Looking Through
by hallowgirlfrommars
Summary: Sequel to my fanfiction Looking On. Isabelle Henderson and her family survived the invasion. Now, it's nothing but a memory. Or so Isabelle would like to think. But strange things are happening in Bucks County. Things that bring back memories. Memories that Isabelle would prefer to forget. And as she investigates, she discovers something-the past may not want to be forgotten..
1. Flickers of Vision

**Ok, guys. It's the sequel.**

**I know it's been a long time coming. But I've been working on original writing and other fanfictions and suffice it to say, there's been a lot going on. **

**But I've been working on this too.**

**OK, I'm not going to go on for ages about the story. But it is going to be formatted a little differently. Last time, the entire thing was told in first-person from Isabelle's POV. This time-this time, it's going to alternate. One chapter, from Isabelle's POV in first-person, the next in third-person. I hope that doesn't annoy anyone, but I thought it was the best way to get inside the other character's heads a little, and to see some other events that are going on.**

**Now. Updates. I've already written nearly seven chapters of this, but I'm going to update every few weeks. This is partly to take down the pressure a little (because, when I'm pressurized, I get writer's block, which obviously would not help the update situation.) and also, because, hopefully, already having a few chapters written will make it easier for me to update more frequently. Last time, I think I left it almost two months between chapters which wasn't good. At all.**

**Anyway, I will try to update this frequently but I can't give exact dates. Big apologies, if updates occasionally take longer than usual. I promise it doesn't mean the fic is abandoned. It just means I'm taking a bit longer than usual. And I'll finish it.**

**Anyway, that's it for the author's notes. Oh, and the soundtrack-because I'm arrogant enough to presume everyone wants to know my music taste, I'm going to post a few of the songs that just sort of get me in the mood to write each chapter at the end of each and then put them all together in the last chapter. Just as a bit of interest.**

**Anyway, that's it. Hope you enjoy the story-and hopefully, leave a review.**

**Oh, and I'll just put the chapter title here in case it doesn't show up at the top, because Fanfiction's not letting me put in a chapter title and I don't know why. :(**

**hallowgirl :)**

Chapter One: Flickers of Vision

_The little boy's body is in my arms, his eyes meeting mine. "Isabelle?" he says, his voice trembling, a crack of terror in the middle of the chaos surrounding us. His eyes meet mine and I can see the blue shade at his lips, though my mind knows there must be none there. "Where is he?"_

_I have no answer, so I shake my head. I duck down as something flies over us, and my eyes close, fighting against the tide of memories filling my brain. My arms fasten tighter around him, but even that isn't enough to stop my own body shaking._

_"Isabelle?" My eyes flicker open to meet Morgan's, and the look on his face sends chills down my spine. His eyes are wide, his cheeks colourless. "Where are they?"_

_The world shakes around me as I fight down a scream._

My eyes flew open, with a gasp, as though I'd been trapped underwater, oxygen filling my lungs like a gift. I shot upright, hands squeezing the sheet beneath me, my eyes casting about the familiar bedroom, as if by reminding myself of the contents, I could make the images less real.

"Isabelle?" Merrill's arms were already around me, his skin warm against mine as I turned to face him. His lips brushed my cheek, a butterfly kiss, before he pulled me into him, my head nestling in the crook of his shoulder and neck. He kissed my hair, his hands holding me against him, whispering something soothing, something that made it a little easier to breathe, easier to focus, to remember. It wasn't real...it wasn't real...

Merrill waited for my breathing to ease, for the trembling to subside, before he pulled back to look at me. "What was it, Izzy?" His voice was low, gentle, and I let my hand explore his cheekbones, dancing down to his shoulders, reminding myself of the reality of him-of what reality was.

Merrill stared at me, tilting my mouth to his in a brief, sweet kiss. "What was it?" he whispered once again, as though the words could be made stronger by sheer repetition.

I sighed, pushed my hands through my hair, hating the trembling that still wracked my whole body. "It was-" Merrill nodded, encouraging me to continue. I swallowed, chewing at my lip. "Morgan," I whispered softly, and my hand slid into Merrill's, my fingers braiding themselves with his. "It was Morgan this time." The images still filled my head, flickers of vision behind my eyes.

Merrill nodded. "What happened?"

Each night, I saw one of them, the people I cared about. Each night, they'd appear in one dream that would have me bolting upright, gasping their names, as if with one wrong breath, they could be taken away from me forever. I'd seen how easily it could happen now. I knew the things that were out there, knew how reality could be snatched away, quicker than the blink of an eye, to be replaced by a world you didn't recognize, a world you didn't understand.

The sort of knowledge that can't be erased.

"I was holding him," I whispered, even though Merrill and I were the only ones to hear. "I was holding him, and he was saying to me-" I squinted, trying to recall exactly, but some of the details were already fading. "There was noise-I think-" My eyes met Merrill's, as I felt the blood drain from my cheeks. "I think we were fighting," I said, my voice barely a whisper. "Not you and me-us against something else. And I was holding Morgan and he said-he said-"

I closed my eyes, willing the words to rise up behind my lips.

My mouth opened of its' own accord. "Where is he? Where are they?" I opened my eyes and focused on Merrill. "That's what he said. That's what he kept saying. He said my name and then just those questions." I moved closer to Merrill. "I think-I think he meant you," I whispered, my eyes moving restlessly about the room, examining every shadow, every possible hiding place. "And the others."

Merrill sighed, gently leaning back to let his eyes meet mine again. "Izzy-" He smoothed my hair with his hand, pressing another kiss to my forehead. "They're just dreams. They've got to be dreams."

I swallowed. "I know" I whispered, turning over in his arms to lay my head against his chest. "But they're so-"

I sighed, letting my hands fall into his hair. "Why have they come back?" The whisper voiced the question that I knew echoed in his thoughts too. "Why? And why now? It's been over a year-"

"They won't come back." Merrill's voice was low, his hands suddenly holding me tighter, his eyes willing me to believe him. "They won't, Izzy. Not for a long time."

I leant closer to him. "When you say they-"

"You know who I mean."

"I meant the nightmares. Why have _they _come back?"

Merrill shrugged. "Worry? Thinking about it too much?" He sighed, pulling me closer to him. "They're dreams, Izzy. Don't worry." His lips brushed my shoulder. "I hate it when you worry." His eyes were softer now, and I sighed, burrowing deeper into his chest, my arms wrapped around his shoulders.

"Sorry. I'll shut up."

Merrill's mouth was gentle as it moved to my neck, and my breath caught in my throat. "Don't be sorry. I just-" He brushed my hair off my neck, his eyes locking with mine. "I hate seeing you scared." The words were a breath of a confession, and I closed my eyes as his mouth brushed mine, my head suddenly spinning.

"I'll never let anything hurt you." Merrill's whisper was frantic against my mouth, and I pulled him back to me, his words interspersed with soft kisses, his hands stroking my skin. "You know that, right?"

I nodded, barely focusing on the nightmares, my thoughts scattered by Merrill's hands, the warmth of his mouth on mine. "I know," I whispered, my hands sliding into his hair. "And I know it's not just because I'm a girl, either."

Merrill laughed softly and the memory of that conversation in the barn, so long ago now, hovered at the forefront of my mind as I brushed my lips against his skin. I could feel his laughter, soft vibrations through his chest and I let my eyes meet his. "Love you, Merrill."

His eyes grew soft, so soft they were almost liquid. "Love you too, Izzy." His mouth found mine again, and I closed my eyes, losing myself in him, so absorbed in the sensation of his skin and his lips and his eyes, that I could almost forget the burning at my wrist, where three marks-remnants of a battle in a glass-filled room, a baseball bat whirling through the air-were still etched into my skin, a brand to carry.

* * *

"Who was the first guy who looked at a cow and thought "I'll squeeze these things and drink the stuff that comes out?""

I glanced at Morgan, who sat beside me on the bleachers, examining his glass of milk with an air of discontent. "Probably someone very bored, with not much else to do" I replied, holding my own glass out for Graham to fill. "But, trust me, he had a lot of time on his hands."

"Or she" added Merrill, his arm sliding around my shoulders. I squinted in the bright sunlight, my eyes meeting his. "It might have been a she."

"That's right." I ruffled Morgan's hair and he squirmed away, lips twitching in a grin. "It might have been."

My nephew sighed, and leaned back, biting into a chocolate bar with vigour. "When's she going to be running, anyway?" he asked, eyeing his father grumpily. "We've been here nearly two hours."

"Morgan-" Graham's expression didn't change, but his tone held a faint warning. "We said we'd come and support your sister. It's a big day for her."

"Yeah, I bet it's _huge._" Morgan sighed, and shifted in his seat restlessly. "A Sports Day for first graders. She's only even been in first grade three weeks."

"Well, that's the point, isn't it?" Graham turned distractedly back to the picnic hamper, shoving the bottle of milk into the cooler. "It's to help them get to know everyone."

"And we have to give up our Friday afternoon to do it."

"Morgan-" My own tone was cautionary, and I raised an eyebrow at my nephew, whose own eyes were narrowed, scanning the field for his sister. "We all came to that baseball game you wanted to watch last week."

"Yeah, but that's different. That's a sport. This is-" He gestured toward the field, evidently searching for words to articulate the contrast. "Not a sport" he finished, somewhat lamely.

"Well, it doesn't matter. We said we'd come and we're here." I shifted into Merrill's arms, my head lying on his shoulder. "She wants us all to see her run."

"I could have been doing homework," Morgan huffed, folding his arms and slouching down in his seat. "I've got loads."

"You can do that tomorrow." Graham turned back to the field, his eyes searching for his daughter. "Today, you can support your sister."

I widened my eyes. "Do mine ears deceive me or did Graham Hess just insinuate there was something more important than homework?"

Morgan sighed. "Even doing two pages of fractions would be more interesting than watching a bunch of six-year-olds run the wrong way, with some teacher blowing a whistle that nobody listens to."

Graham shot me a rueful glance. "And the teen years begin."

I sniggered as Morgan began to protest that he wasn't even a teenager yet, he was twelve "for God's sake", and didn't his own father know his age?

Merrill leaned into me, his lips brushing my neck. "How was your first Sports Day?"

I turned to look at him, my eyes meeting his. In the bright September sunlight, it was almost easy to forget about the nightmares. Everything was bright; everything was understandable. Surely, nothing could be wrong. Not here, not now.

"You know that kid Morgan was laughing at earlier? The one that ran the wrong way, cried, and then tried to kick the teacher and had to be carried off screaming by her irate parents?"

Merrill nodded, a grin already blossoming at his mouth. "Yeah?"

"I was that kid."

Merrill's laughter was silenced abruptly when I leaned in and touched my mouth to his, my hands sliding into his hair, suddenly wanting him closer. Out here, it was easy to believe that we were safe, that nothing could get us, but at night, thoughts crept into my head. Whispers, nightmares. Things I was sure I'd left behind.

And if they could still find me, what else could?

Merrill's hands found their way into my hair, his mouth warm and soft against mine. He broke away from me for a minute, his eyes burning with something, that made me shiver, despite the heat of the day. I looped my arms around his neck, brushing my lips across his again. I was aware of everything, of the way his arms felt around me, of the brushing of his shirt against my blouse, of the way my heart was pounding...

"Oh, _Jesus." _Morgan rolled his eyes as he turned to look at us. "Would you two get a room?"

_"Morgan!" _Graham glared at his son, as Merrill and I bit back grins. "Say anything like that again and you won't be leaving _your _room for a week."

I shook my finger playfully at my nephew, who at least had the grace to look abashed. "Disappointing behaviour, Morgan Hess. Disappointing behaviour."

Merrill sighed, shaking his head. "Very disappointing behaviour. Should be grounded for three weeks behaviour."

"Oh, shut up." Morgan's voice was low, but there was a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, as he turned to watch the field.

Graham's eyes narrowed, but I shook my head at him. Morgan didn't mean any harm.

"There she is!" Graham stood up, hands already clapping in applause as Bo's group-the class had apparently been split into separate groups for each mini-race-headed out onto the field, a group of small children, each with the same slightly nervous look in their eyes.

Merrill and I, and after a moment, even Morgan, climbed to our feet, all joining in the applause. I spotted Bo almost instantly, her long brown hair blanketing her pale skin, eyes narrowed in determination.

"How long's the race, anyway?" I asked Morgan, as we sat down, while the kids took their starting positions.

"About as long as it takes ten kids to sprint ten yards," was his quick answer, as the kids were herded back to the starting line.

I shifted in my seat and winced suddenly. Merrill glanced at me, eyes narrowed. "You OK?"

I nodded. "It just stung, that's all."

Merrill tipped his head to the side, confused. "What did?"

I showed him my hand, with the three scars. Three scars, to remember last June by. Three scars, to remind us all that that weekend had happened. That they had been real.

Three scars, which were stinging badly. I stared at them. They didn't look any different. Maybe it was just imagination.

Down on the field, Bo was standing behind the starting line. She was hunched over, brows knotted, before she glanced up, meeting my eyes. I shot her a smile and a wave. She grinned briefly back, before turning to face ahead, eyes narrowed in concentration. I felt a grin pull at my lips.

"Are you sure you're OK?" Merrill was still examining my hand, lips puckered with concern. I stared at him for a moment, hating the fact I'd managed to make him anxious. I kissed his cheek quickly, hand stroking his neck.

"It's OK. I'm fine." I nestled my head against his chest for a moment-next to me, Morgan rolled his eyes and pointedly looked away. Merrill's lips twitched in a smile, though the concern was not completely gone from his eyes. I turned back to the field, my eyes on Bo.

"Let's focus on the race" I whispered. "Or she'll kill us afterwards."

Merrill laughed, turning to face his niece, his own eyes narrowed as he watched the field, taking in the way Bo was crouched, face frozen in concentration. She reminded me of her father-the way she focused on things, the way she could put everything out of her mind but the task at hand. Merrill was like that, too.

I kept my eyes on her, trying to take a leaf out of her book, focusing on nothing but the sound of the whistle, nothing but the anticipatory pause, nothing but the round of cheering that followed as the children burst into speed. If I focused on it long enough, I could forget the way my skin burnt, the way the three scars ached, as though my skin had been newly sliced open.

* * *

"Third place!" Bo announced, for the fifth time that evening, her eyes bright, smile fixed in place, as though she'd just heard school had been cancelled for life.

"We heard you the first four times," muttered Morgan, but his lips were tugged in a grudging smile as Bo held up the green ribbon, which had been pushed into her hands by her overly-beaming teacher, after she had walked solemnly across the line, the third child in the group to do so.

"Well done, baby." Graham stooped to kiss her, lips brushing her hair, as she settled back in her seat, smiling contentedly now that she had established her victory. "And now, do you think, you could please try eating one mouthful of your dinner?"

Bo nodded, shoving a chicken nugget into her mouth with renewed vigour. She kept her eyes on mine as she chewed, her hair caught under her chin. "I did good, right, Isabelle?"

"You did great." I beamed at her across the table, surreptitiously measuring her growth with my eyes. It was hard to believe how small she'd seemed this time last year, her cheeks still rounded with baby chubbiness. These days, her eyes were older, her cheekbones a little more prominent. She was still only six, but she was growing up, quicker than I'd anticipated. In a way, I missed the days when she was still a little girl, her head barely reaching her brother's knee.

Merrill reached across, pretending to steal her chicken nuggets. His fingers hovered over her food, her eyes finding his grin. "Can't I have one?"

"Nope!" Bo shook her head, yanking her plate towards her, grinning harder at Merrill's laughter.

I elbowed him in the ribs. "Leave her alone. Eat your own food, you greedy-"

Merrill placed a chicken nugget between my lips, shutting me up instantly. I grinned, meeting his eyes. "You'll pay for that, Merrill Hess."

"I'm terrified." Merrill's arm slung around my shoulders, his face looking distinctly unterrified. I smirked, turning back to Bo. "How's school?"

She shrugged. "I don't like homework. I like recess. My best friend Abby plays Princesses with me. So does Chloe, sometimes."

"That sounds good" I nodded. Never let it be said that recess should be without its' princess games.

Merrill sniggered, and I shot him a warning look, raising my eyebrows. Bo was still sensitive to being laughed at-as she continually reminded us all, she was "a big girl now." Everyone tried to remember but it was difficult to stop seeing Bo as the little girl she'd always been, for as long as I'd known her.

"How about you, Morgan?" Merrill leant round my shoulder to speak to his nephew, who, for all his maturity, was currently absorbed in building a cabin of French fries. "How's middle school?"

Morgan shrugged. "Annoying. Boring. Homework." He took a bite of his cheeseburger, eyes widening over the top of the meat. "What else is there to say?"

I shrugged. "Fair estimation."

Merrill smirked, leaning back in his chair. "Your race went well" he smiled at his niece, whose eyes widened, as she swallowed her chicken nugget.

"Did you see me overtake Nicky Garrett?"

"The little kid in the glasses? Yeah." Merrill joined in Bo's laughter, as she reenacted the feat on her plate with her French fries. I glared at him, unable to fight the smile playing at my lips. "Don't make fun of little kids in glasses."

Merrill raised an eyebrow. "The kid got to the end of the line, then burst into tears when he found out Bo had beaten him. And then his parents came out and started shrieking at the teacher, like it was her fault their kid came fourth."

"And he wet himself." Bo licked salt from her fingertips with a dainty precision. "I saw him."

"All right, Bo."Graham shot her a cautionary glance, his eyes widening, clearly hoping Bo would pick up the message and quieten down.

"It went everywhere."

"All _right_, Bo." Graham's voice held a tone of far greater finality this time and I caught my niece's eye across the table, struggling not to giggle. She smirked at me, suddenly looking remarkably like her mother. Her smile had always been similar to Colleen's.

Morgan slumped back in his seat, pushing his mostly-eaten burger away from him. "We going soon?"

"You said I could have ice cream!" Bo, who had not even finished her main course, bounced up and down in the seat, indignant at this perceived withdrawal of a treat. "You promised!"

I glanced at Graham. "You did promise her."

Graham rolled his eyes at me. "I know I did." He turned to his son. "All right with you, Morgan?"

Morgan nodded slowly. "I guess." But he kept his eyes fixed on the table and it was then that I noticed the crease of worry in his forehead. Graham had that look when he was preoccupied with something, something he didn't wish to share with us.

I reached out to touch my nephew's hair, only for him to jerk away impatiently. "I'm OK. I don't have a fever." He caught the look on my face and his tone softened slightly. "I just-I just don't feel like eating more, that's all." He pulled the sleeves of his jacket down to his wrists, the material thick for the September heat.

Bo frowned. "I'll eat yours', then."

Morgan snorted. "You'll eat anything!"

Graham didn't bother to reprimand them. If anything, he was watching Morgan more closely than ever, eyes narrowed as if the simple act of looking at his son would persuade him to open his mouth. "If you don't want any more, that's fine, Morgan."

Morgan sighed and leaned back in his chair, as if the very act of being in a restaurant was exhausting.

Merrill leaned into my shoulder, his mouth finding my ear. "Going outside."

I turned to frown at him, and he shook his cigarette packet at me by way of explanation. I rolled my eyes, pressing my lips to his cheek. "I keep telling you to give those up."

Merrill grinned at me. "I know. But I don't listen." He slid out of his chair, cleverly ducking my swat at his arm, giving me a quick wink over his shoulder, which brought a reluctant grin to my lips. I let my eyes follow him out the door, suddenly longing to be close to him, feel his arms around me. The scars on my skin were still tingling and it seemed to knock the world a little off-kilter.

Bo was watching me across the table. "Isabelle?" She looked at me, her eyes wide, voice deadly serious.

I frowned. "Yeah?"

"Are you and Uncle Merrill going to get married?"

I choked on my drink. Graham reached over to pat me on the back, looking suspiciously as though he was trying to stifle his laughter. Morgan sniggered, casting a glance at me out of the corner of his eyes.

"I-I-" I glanced at Graham for help, but he seemed perfectly happy to keep his eyes on the plate. Hilarious, just hilarious.

"I don't know, Bo." I took a long drink of my milkshake to avoid having to say anymore. Getting _married? _I was only twenty-two, for God's sake! And it's not as though Merrill and I had ever talked about that-marriage-I-

I could feel my cheeks were flushed, as I ducked my head for a moment. We lived together, but that didn't mean-

"I don't know, sweetie." I forced myself to meet Bo's eyes again, and winced at the slightly inquisitorial gaze I found. "It's too early to think about things like that."

Bo frowned. "No, it's not." She took the last bite of her chicken nugget. "You've been living together for-" She frowned, counting on her fingers. "At least nearly a year" she announced brightly, after a few moments of consideration. "And that means-"

"OK, sweetheart." Graham's voice cut into the conversation, a grin still tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Bo, we don't ask about things like that."

Bo frowned. "Why not?"

Morgan snorted with laughter as I rolled my eyes. "I'll go and check on Merrill" I muttered, sliding my chair back and heading for the door, struggling to suppress the smirk hovering at my own lips. Behind me, I could hear muffled gales of laughter from Bo and Morgan, as Graham tried his best to quieten them both. Perfect.

Standing outside the restaurant, I tilted my head back, breathing in the air. What was wrong with me? Morgan and Bo were just messing about. And what was I so freaked out about, anyway?

Perhaps it was just the whole idea of maturity. Of getting older. I didn't want to get older yet. I wanted to just- I closed my eyes and leaned against the wall.

I liked some parts of this whole being an adult thing. There were some advantages. Like being with Merrill, living with Merrill-all of that was the good part. But there'd be other parts, wouldn't there? Other parts, that weren't as good, and what if I wasn't ready, yet?

I sighed, standing upright and turned down the street, my eyes scouring the place for Merrill. What if I reached the day when I couldn't laugh about things? What if I reached a day, when I couldn't laugh at Disney films with Morgan and Bo, and just sat there on the couch instead, grumbling about how the princesses always had to be saved, and couldn't save themselves for once?

I stopped dead as a bolt of realization struck me. Oh my God. I did that now.

I stared dead ahead as though I'd been hit with something. How had I not noticed? I was getting _older. No._ How had I not realised this travesty? Soon, there'd come a day when I just sat and whined about the mortgage and grouched about unpaid bills, and I might not be able to remember to laugh at funny clips on the Internet? What if a day came when I couldn't remember the chapters of my favourite books and I just sat and sighed about the good old days and mourned times long lost? What if there came a time when I became all bitter and cynical and started to poke fun at childrens' stories, pointing out all the holes big enough to shove a shovel through, instead of just losing myself like a kid and rejoicing in magic and wizards and talking frogs-

"Isabelle?" I careened straight into someone and stopped dead, as the familiar hands caught hold of my arms. "Izzy, what's wrong?" Merrill's eyes looked into mine, his face creased in concern.

I blurted out the first thing that came into my head. "I don't want us to get older, Merrill. I'm scared about getting older and not reading and losing frogs and-" I stopped dead. I figured I'd probably said enough to make Merrill consider having me locked away.

Merrill, very slowly, moved his head in a nod, one eyebrow raising, as he digested my comment. I closed my eyes, running over the words in my head, wondering just how insane I'd sounded.

"Izzy-" Merrill cleared his throat and slid his hand under my chin, tilting my face to look into his eyes. "Izzy, let me promise you-" His gaze met mine, his lip quirking into a small grin. "That is just about the most insane thing you've ever said to me. But the best part had to be the bit about the frogs."

I grimaced, closing my eyes. "Sorry-"

Merrill burst out laughing, pulling me towards him, lips brushing my hair. "And what the hell are you worrying about getting older for? You're _twenty-two." _He raised an eyebrow, kissing my cheek. "_I _should be the one worried about getting older."

I sighed. "I know-and you are _not _old-but-"

Merrill shook his head, a smirk still dancing at his mouth. "Where did the frogs thing come from?"

I leaned my head against his chest, feeling like a complete idiot. "My insane head?"

Merrill rolled his eyes and tilted my chin up to meet his gaze. "Izzy, you are not going to get older yet. For God's sake, you've got years before you have to turn into the next Shirley Valentine. You can relax." He gently kissed the tip of my nose. "And anyway, what are you worried about? You've got ages. _I've _got more to worry about than you."

"What have you got to panic for?"

Merrill laughed. "I'm five years older than you, aren't I?"

"Like that makes a difference." I wound my arms around him, nestling my head into his chest, my lips brushing the hollow of his throat. He smiled, his eyes bright and I wondered how I could rebound so quickly from being lost in a sea of needless worries to feeling like there was nothing wrong in the world.

Merrill leaned against the wall, removing the packet of cigarettes from his pocket, and took my hand in his, his thumb dancing across my palm. "I told you to give those up." I gently knocked at the packet in his hand, as if that would make a difference. "They'll kill you."

"Either that, or you will, telling me to give them up all the time."

"Best interests at heart, though, isn't-"

My voice broke off as my eyes focused on something across the street. I frowned, squinting, trying to see if it was who I thought it was.

"Izzy?" Merrill turned, following my gaze, staring across the road. "What are you looking at?"

I shook my head , my eyes still fixed on the figure across the street. "That's-" I swallowed, shielding my eyes with my hand. "That's Ray, isn't it?"

Ray Reddy was standing across the street, leaning against the wall of a shop. Even from this distance, I could tell that he was gasping for breath. I watched the quick rise and fall of his chest, my own eyes narrowing. "What's wrong with him?"

Merrill was staring across the road, his hand suddenly tight on my shoulder. "I'll check, if you want."

"I'm going, too." I was already heading across the road, almost forgetting to look both ways. Fortunately, Bucks County wasn't exactly Manhattan traffic, and so there were no cars speeding toward me. If there were, I'd probably have ended up lying in a hospital bed.

Merrill rolled his eyes, as we reached the opposite sidewalk. "It doesn't help him, if _you _get hurt too, you know."

I shook my head, my eyes fixed on Ray. He was slumped against the wall, shaking, his eyes wide. As I reached him, he slid down into a sitting position.

"Ray?" I reached out nervously to touch his shoulder. He shuddered when my fingers brushed his shirt, almost as though he'd received an electric shock. His arms were wrapped around his knees and he suddenly looked like a little boy, curling up, trying not to be seen.

"I've got to-" His voice trailed off, and his whole body began to shake, wracked by violent tremors. I stared at him, as Merrill sunk to his knees beside him, his eyes fierce.

"Ray?" He reached out, shaking his shoulder. "Ray, say something!"

There was no response. Just a violent, constant shaking. He stared directly ahead, as though not seeing any of us at all. Behind us, a crowd had begun to form.

"Call 911." I whispered, unable to move, unable to take my eyes off him. "Oh my God, Merrill, just call-"

"Isabelle?" It was Graham's voice, that cut through the air next, and I turned to him, relieved, sure he'd be able to sort this, the way he was able to solve every crisis, sure that he'd be able to set things to rights. He was Graham, after all.

People moved aside for him, and he made his way through the crowd, sinking down to his knees beside Ray. "Ray?" He took in the situation at a glance, before glancing at Merrill. "Call an ambulance. Now." His tone brooked no argument, but before Merrill could move so much as a step, there was a rattling gasp at our feet.

"Ray?" The tremors had stopped and Ray rolled over, still gasping for breath, his eyes wild and rolling. I stared at him, my mouth grasping for words that I couldn't find. My mind searched for possible causes-an aneurysm, a stroke-something...

"Isabelle-" Ray was gasping my name and my eyes found his. He gestured with his hand, which fell to his side before he could reach for me. I took it anyway, my fingers folding around his. "Isabelle-you-you've got to-you've got to know-"

My blood seemed to turn cold. I stared at Ray. "What? I've got to know _what?"_

Ray rolled over, his words becoming almost incoherent. "You've got to know-they're-coming-they're going to come-they're coming-they're going to come back-"

I glanced at Merrill, who was frozen with his eyes wide. Morgan and Bo stood each side of him, both frozen, staring at the man lying on the ground before them, the man they only knew as being responsible for the death of their mother. They were both white, and behind Merrill's back I saw Morgan's fingers close around Bo's wrist.

"They're going to come back-they're coming back-" Ray rolled over and fell silent-his words died away in his throat-his eyes fluttered closed and he lay still.

There was a heavy silence.

"Ray?" Graham reached out, grabbing Ray's wrist. "Ray!" He shook his shoulder frantically, then snatched his hand back as though burnt. "Merrill!" His voice barked out of his throat almost too rapidly to hear. "Ambulance!"

Merrill yanked his phone from his pocket and began dialling with fingers that visibly shook. I put my hand on his arm without looking at him, sensing where to hold him, and felt the answering pressure of his hand on mine. Bo let out a small whimper behind us and I heard Morgan shush her. I didn't have to look to know that, despite his act earlier in the evening, he would already have his arm around his sister's shoulders.

My eyes remained fixed on Ray. My fingers groped for his pulse.

_They're going to come back-they're coming back-_

What had he meant? I searched his wrist with my fingers, prodding and poking for a beat of blood. But there was no throb under my fingers-no pulse of life under the skin.

_Don't be stupid, of course he's alive-of course, he is-he's going to be fine-he's going to be just fine..._

My chest was tight and I had to swallow, the insides of my mouth metallic with the taste of fear.

_He has to be OK..._

There had to be something. There had to be.

_Isabelle-you-you've got to-_

I shook his shoulder, my fingers biting into his shirt more viciously than I'd intended. "Ray! Ray, wake _up!"_ I fought back a sob. "Wake _up!"_

Nothing.

_You've got to know..._

I stared at him. "What? What did I have to know?" I whispered the words, a forlorn sound in the air, knowing it was pointless. Ray lay still before me, an unmoving body of words unsaid.

Behind me, I was dimly aware of people muttering in the crowd, and of Merrill's voice as he half-shouted down the phone. "I told you, he's just lying there-he doesn't seem to have a pulse-we're_ checking _for a pulse-" His voice rose slightly. "Oh, for God's sake, could you just get down here?!"

Graham stepped forward. "Merrill-" He held out his hand for the phone and after a moment of reluctant hesitation, Merrill handed it over. I heard Graham's voice resume the conversation, as Merrill knelt down beside me, his brows still knitted together.

"Izzy?" His hand rubbed between my shoulder blades, his eyes focused on my face. "Isabelle?"

Bo's voice sounded faintly from behind me. "Isabelle?" I heard Morgan murmur something to her, some soothing words and was struck by the fact that despite everything he claimed, he was still his sister's biggest protector.

But my eyes were still fixed on Ray. He lay so still. There was no pulse under his skin. Nothing.

_He-this can't be..._

But I knew it was. I stepped back from him slowly, my eyes unwilling to leave his face as Merrill's arms slid around me. I turned, suddenly unable to watch the unnatural stillness of his body anymore, desperate to look at something else, anything. I bit my lip, my face burying itself into Merrill's jacket, my eyes screwed shut, as though I could block it all out. As though I could block everything out.

The murmurs in the crowd died away to silence. In the light evening air, I could catch the faint sounds of a siren, the signal of the arrival of an ambulance, that I was already sure we didn't need.

**And there's the end of the first chapter. Hope you enjoyed that-and I kind of owe Calvin and Hobbes for that line about the cow, just so I don't get accused of plagiarism. Which reminds me-I don't own Signs or any of M. Night Shyamalan's characters.**

**Anyway, first chapter done. Here's the soundtrack:**

**The Dream by the Birthday Massacre**

**Beautiful With You by Halestorm**

**Dreams by the Cranberries**

**I Think The Answer's Yes by the Beautiful South**

**My Delirium by Ladyhawke**

**Radioactive by Imagine Dragons.**

**Well, there's the first one. Reviews make me very, very happy indeed, so please leave me one. :)**


	2. A Series of Unexpected Events

**Ok, guys. Here's Chapter 2, with the soundtrack at the bottom. Leave a review if you like it.**

**Chapter 2-A Series of Unexpected Events**

Merrill stood still, taking a moment to watch Isabelle from the doorway. She was already lying in bed, tucked under the bedclothes, almost in a foetal position, her face tense, her eyes distant. He knew she was worrying, knew she was thinking about Ray Reddy and it sent a twinge through his heart. He hated it when Isabelle worried, and he hated it even more that this time he couldn't simply reason it away.

He and Isabelle had spent the evening at the Hess farm, watching Morgan and Bo, while Graham travelled with Ray in the ambulance to the hospital. "He'll need someone there when he wakes up" Merrill's older brother had told him. "That is-" Graham had trailed off at that point, but Merrill had heard the unspoken words as loudly as if they'd been screamed. Isabelle had burrowed further into his shoulder then, and he didn't blame her.

Morgan and Bo had both spent the evening asking endless questions about whether or not Ray would be all right, and Isabelle had done her best to answer them, with Merrill fiddling with the TV channels, struggling to find a good kids' film to distract the two of them. There hadn't been any-and Merrill wasn't sure Morgan would even have agreed to watch, anyway, given his general transformation these days. They'd been left to the old adage of bedtime stories instead, with Isabelle snapping out of her worried trance in order to read to Bo, who was eager to show off her "grown-up bedroom".

A month prior, Morgan and Bo had decided they were too old to be sharing a room and after a little persuasion, Graham had agreed to Morgan moving out of the shared bedroom and into one of the two guest rooms. Morgan had worried his sister would be upset; on the contrary, Bo had been elated to have the whole room to herself.

Bo had nodded off remarkably peacefully after one story, and Morgan had taken himself off to bed shortly after, with the assurance that he didn't need to be read to, and that he could take care of himself. He was twelve, as he kept reminding everyone, and twelve wasn't a little kid anymore-as he also kept reminding everyone. When Isabelle had poked her head around his door an hour later, he'd been fast asleep, a comic book sprawled open on his chest. She'd shifted him further onto the bed and switched out his light, leaving her nephew to his dreams.

Merrill and Izzy had spent the rest of the evening sitting on the sofa, flipping through the TV channels, as though any show could possibly take their minds off what had just happened. Things hadn't been as bad as Izzy had feared when she'd buried her head in Merrill's shoulder on the sidewalk. Ray had still been alive when the paramedics had arrived, and lifted him into the ambulance. Graham had called them once from the hospital to say that Ray was in intensive care, and that there was nothing they could know, yet. Izzy and Merrill had spent the evening sitting on the couch, with Merrill hugging his girlfriend to him, holding her, until eventually worrying had worn her out and she'd nodded off on his shoulder. It had been eleven before Graham had returned with the news that Ray was still lying in intensive care, in a condition that was "critical but temporarily stable."

"And they don't know what caused it?" Merrill had whispered, watching Izzy's mouth as it twitched slightly in her dreams.

Graham had shaken his head. "It looked as if he'd just collapsed-spasms of his muscles, something that caused some sort of seizure-they've no idea. And now he's lapsed into an induced coma. We've just got no-" He sighed. "I kept talking to him but he didn't respond. Didn't say anything. So I came home. I'll have to go back tomorrow though. Can't just leave him alone."

Merrill had nodded, biting his lip. Ray might have killed Graham's wife, but Graham still wouldn't abandon him. That was just the way his brother was.

So, Merrill had shaken Isabelle gently awake and they'd driven home. And now, she was lying in bed, curled up, the way she always did when she was fretting, and Merrill wished there was something he could say to make it better.

"Hey" he said, moving toward her. It took a moment and then she turned to face him, her eyes wide. His heart ached at the sight and he slid onto the bed, his arm sliding round her shoulders, smoothing her hair. "Don't worry" he whispered, watching the pucker of her lips. "Worrying won't change anything."

Izzy watched him for a moment. "It was just so-" She sighed. "Seeing him like that. And what he said-" Her voice trailed off, and she watched Merrill, her hand rising to touch his cheek. Merrill closed his eyes, drifting in the sensation of her moving into his arms, her hand tracing his cheekbone. His breath caught in his throat.

He opened his eyes and met Isabelle's gaze head on, the words Ray had spoken echoing in his own head. _You and your sister-...you need to know..._

"He-he might have been delirious or something, you know-" He trailed off, aware of how lame the words sounded. "You can't take it seriously. He was-he was almost unconscious, Izzy-"

But he couldn't get rid of the other words echoing round his head. _They're going to come back-they're coming back..._

Or what those words might refer to.

Izzy moved closer to him, tucking her head under his chin. "Bet you think I'm freaking out over nothing, huh?"

Her voice, rueful, almost wry, sounded more like her, and Merrill suppressed a sigh of relief, that she was a little calmer, a little more relaxed. "Not nothing" he said, interspersing the words with kisses to her hair. "I just think-we don't need to take it this seriously, that's all. He was having a fit, Izzy. He might have been seeing something that wasn't real. That's all."

"Maybe" Izzy agreed, but a hint of doubt tinged the words, and Merrill bit his lip, aware that he hadn't convinced her fully.

But at this point, probably nothing except Ray's recovery could convince her, and he sighed, knowing there was little else they could do at this point. "Try and get some sleep" he whispered, wrapping his arms round her. Izzy always moved close to him in her sleep, wrapping herself around him, and it made him smile. The trust in her eyes when she looked at him now made him kiss her quickly and she smiled again, kissing him back, her hands in his hair.

"Is Graham going back to the hospital tomorrow?"

"Uh-huh. Guess we'll be watching Morgan and Bo."

"Guess so." Isabelle's hands slid into his hair and Merrill closed his eyes, as her mouth moved to his neck, where she whispered something. "What?"

"Love you." The words were whispered again and again, a litany as she moved her mouth to below his ear. "I love you, Merrill."

Merrill pulled her mouth back to his, pressing her against him, unable to think straight with her skin touching his, her body wrapped around his. "I love you, too."

She laughed gently, returning each kiss, as he pushed her back into the pillows. "Make me forget about it" she whispered. "Just for a bit."

Merrill watched her for a moment, his eyes looking into hers', before he bent forward and brushed his lips across hers', his arms sliding around her. She clung to his shoulders, deepening the kiss, until Merrill could barely breathe. He drew back from her, aware of his heartbeat in his ears, and Izzy pulled him back down, burying her mouth in the crook of his neck, making him gasp as her lips brushed under his ear. She kept kissing him, until Merrill had forgotten everything else, until the sound of his own whispers and the soft sensation of Isabelle's mouth, and the feeling of her wrapped around him, was the only thing in the world, just for a while.

* * *

Morgan opened his eyes, shooting bolt upright, gasping for breath. His skin was damp to the touch and he stared around his room, wild-eyed, for several moments before his brain kicked in.

It had only been a dream...it had just been a dream...

Morgan automatically glanced to his side, expecting to see his sister lying in the bed across the room, and felt the familiar lurch of disappointment in his stomach, as though he'd moved forward, expecting to find the stairs under his feet, and instead fallen into empty space. It'd been weeks, but he still wasn't entirely used to having a room to himself, and while the benefits vastly outweighed the negatives, there were still things he missed. Such as having someone there when he woke up in the night.

He sighed and swung his legs out of bed, dimly noting the sheets were damp with sweat and twisted with his pyjamas-he must have been thrashing around for a good few minutes before he woke up. His eyes adjusting slowly to the darkness, he glanced around, spotting his inhaler on the bedside table and wondering idly if he needed to use it. He didn't think so-his breathing was calming down now, his heartbeat slowing. It hadn't been real, after all.

He always had to remind himself of that, and yet it never seemed to stick in his head.

Pushing his hair back, Morgan sighed, heading for the bedroom door. He had enough experience with nightmares to know that it would be near impossible to get back to sleep for a while-he might as well do something with his time. He headed down the landing, bare feet padding over the floor, as he crept down the stairs.

Morgan only paused to glance into the family room for a moment, before he continued to the kitchen. It had been over a year since that morning, but he still remembered some things, contrary to what he told his worried father, uncle and aunt.

Being lifted. The feeling of something freezing on the back of his throat. The sick lurch as he fell through the air, the hard smack of the floor on his side, the impact reverberating throughout his entire body. And the sounds...the sounds it had made...

Morgan repressed a shudder as he continued to the kitchen. It was OK. They weren't coming back. They weren't.

He padded to the fridge, steadfastly refusing to look behind him. It was all right. He was perfectly safe.

If he kept thinking about it all, he'd go crazy.

He yanked open the fridge door, and pulled out a bottle of milk, upending it over a clean glass from the rack. He sighed, thinking of the events of the evening. It had just been-he bit his lip as he thought of Ray Reddy thrashing on the ground like that-_weird._ A year ago, Morgan had been confused about Ray Reddy. Eighteen months ago, he'd hated him.

Two years ago-well, he wouldn't have given the man a second thought. And there'd been no reason to.

He shook his head, shoving the bottle of milk back into the fridge. It was stupid to think about. It wasn't their fault Ray Reddy was lying in hospital. It had just been weird-seeing that. Seeing Isabelle and Uncle Merrill bent over him. He was sure that a year ago, Merrill couldn't have cared less what happened to Ray Reddy-but then he probably didn't want to annoy Isabelle. Morgan's lips broke into a reluctant grin.

Isabelle and Merrill had been going out for over a year now, and Morgan had pretty much gotten used to it. He still thought it was pretty funny, though-he remembered when they'd first met and his uncle hadn't been able to take his eyes off her. Morgan rolled his own eyes at the memory. If he ever looked at some girl that way, he knew he wouldn't hear the end of it, so he supposed it was only fitting that he get to wind his uncle up about it at every opportunity.

He shook his head again, turning back to the counter, his eyes drifting to the window. He let his eyes linger on the cornfields, taking in the sight of the crops waving in the moonlight, though there was no hint of a breeze.

A small flash of movement caught his gaze.

Morgan froze, his hand still gripping the glass, his eyes fixed on the window. He was painfully aware of his chest tightening and a brief image of his inhaler, abandoned on the bedside table upstairs, danced before his eyes. His heart seemed to lurch horribly against his ribs and he was suddenly very strongly aware of just how alone he was down in the kitchen, with everyone else upstairs...

They couldn't be back...they couldn't...

There was another flash of movement, almost too quick for his eyes to catch and Morgan's mouth opened. But no sound would reach his lips. He was aware of the skin prickling at the back of his neck, aware of every hair standing to attention on his body.

And then it moved again, and this time he recognized the sight.

Morgan's heart lurched in his chest again, this time with relief. "Bo?" he called, already heading to the kitchen door. He tugged at it, confused. It was locked. He stared at his sister through the window. How had she managed to get outside if-

He fiddled with the keys, grabbing them from the hook on the wall, and managed to unlock the back door with shaking fingers. "Bo?" he called again, as he pushed the door open, his bare feet flinching at the grain of the wood under his feet. He sprinted onto the grass, the blades damp with dew against his skin.

Bo was standing perfectly still, staring up at the house. Her face seemed unnaturally pale against the darkness, lit only by the eerie light of a full moon that hung low in the September sky. She was watching the house with eyes opened wide in an expression of fixed focus, her nightie billowing around her, though there seemed no breeze.

Morgan stopped still, a wave of unease ebbing in his chest. "Bo?" His voice was quieter than before, as he stopped where he was, a few feet from his sister, his teeth digging into his lip. Something about the situation was pushing at his brain, tugging in his chest, every sense he had screaming that this was _not right, _that something was _off _about the whole thing.

His sister gave no sign of having seen him or heard him. In fact, she gave no acknowledgement of his presence whatsoever. Instead, she simply stared up at the windows above, her eyes narrowing now. The expression of fierce concentration made Morgan's heart skip a beat-her face was too young to look that old.

"What are you doing?" His voice was a whisper. He shivered, even though the night was not cold. He wrapped his arms around himself, wishing he'd brought his inhaler out with him. His sister looked utterly gone. As though she wasn't even there, had travelled somewhere far away in her head, somewhere Morgan wasn't sure he could follow.

Bo didn't answer. Morgan hesitated, before taking another step closer. "What are you doing?" His voice was small in his throat as he watched his sister. She was still staring straight ahead, giving him no sign that she was aware of his presence at all.

Morgan swallowed, darting a nervous glance back at the house. "Bo, what are you-"

Her head moved slowly, her eyes focusing on his. He felt his lips turn up in a smile, relief filtering through his body, that she'd recognized him, that-

Her eyes narrowed, and Morgan took an involuntary step back. There was something about her face, something about her eyes, that sent chills down his spine. She didn't look like Bo. In that moment, she didn't look like his sister at all.

"Bo?" His voice cracked halfway through the word, and he felt himself shiver, wanting to reach out to her, but hesitating.

She stared at him for a long moment, and then her eyes closed. She shuddered, as if suddenly freezing-Morgan saw the hairs on her arms stand up as if the temperature had suddenly plummeted. Her head jerked up as her eyes flew open, meeting his in a direct stare.

The glare she sent in his direction felt like a physical blow and Morgan almost staggered. He struggled to right himself, dimly noting that this was not his sister, this couldn't be his sister, this couldn't be, she'd never been like that, never, she'd never looked at anyone like that...

He stumbled backwards as he swore that Bo's eyes flickered. "Bo?" His voice was louder this time and panic cracked the words in two. Behind his sister, the cornfields flickered ominously, almost in rhythm with the time of his heart.

Bo's head moved and she fixed her gaze on the window again. Morgan stared at her, heart pounding for a few moments. When she didn't move, he took one step back, then another. Then, with one last glance at his sister, he turned and raced into the house, the door banging behind him.

The journey up the stairs to his father's room took only a few moments but to Morgan it seemed like a lifetime. He was gasping for breath as he reached the top of the stairs and took a brief moment to regret not grabbing his inhaler when he'd made his way outside. He glanced down the landing, noting that Bo's door was wide open, before grabbing his father's door handle.

"Dad!" Morgan half-fell into the room, still gasping. "Dad!"

His father shot upright, and Morgan barely had time to think before Graham was at his side, his arm round his shoulders. "Morgan?" He guided his son to the bed, sitting him down carefully. "Breathe slowly."

Morgan could feel his father's arm around him, his chest loosening slightly. "Dad-it's Bo-"

"What?" His father bent closer, his arm still around Morgan, holding his son close to him. "What's wrong with Bo?"

Morgan took another shuddering breath as he turned to face his father. "She's outside-she's acting really weird-she's staring up at the house, and when I went out to talk to her-"

"Hold on a minute." His father held up his hand to cut Morgan off. "She's outside, right now?"

Morgan nodded. "Yeah. And she's acting really strange. I went down to get a glass of milk and she was just standing there, staring up at the house, and then when I went outside to ask her what she was doing-she just didn't answer me for ages, it was like she couldn't hear-and then when she did look at me-" He bit his lip. "She kind of _snarled _at me or something. Like, really glared. And then she just went back to staring at the house. So I came to get you."

Graham was watching his son, his face inscrutable in the darkness. "OK." He swallowed, pushing his hand through his hair. "OK." Morgan watched his father, but he couldn't tell anything from his expression.

Graham stood up suddenly, and Morgan followed as he grabbed his robe from the door, before heading out onto the landing. Morgan glanced down the hallway, and blinked. Bo's door, which he had been sure was standing wide open, was now closed over, the same way it had been when she went to sleep earlier.

His father was already halfway down the stairs and Morgan hurried after him, wishing for a moment his uncle was here. Uncle Merrill would know what to say, he thought.

Graham was pulling at the doorknob, when Morgan reached the kitchen. "It's locked." He shot Morgan a suspicious look, his eyes narrowed. "I thought you said she was outside?"

"She was" said Morgan. "It was like that when I came down." He shrugged. "Maybe she got out the front door."

"She can't reach the handle." Graham reached for the keys and it was then that Morgan was struck by a realization.

"Dad, I unlocked the door earlier-"

The door was already open, and Graham was on the porch, scouring the back yard with his eyes. They lingered for a moment on the cornfields, before glancing away.

"Morgan?"

Frowning, Morgan stepped outside, his own eyes narrowing. He stared out at the backyard.

It was empty. There was nothing out of place, nothing unusual to see. Bo had simply vanished.

"I don't get it." Morgan stared at his father, knowing how useless the explanation sounded. "Dad, she was right there!"

Graham stared at his son for a long moment, his expression almost unreadable. He scanned the cornfield, taking in the crops, the absence of any small girl. With no word at all, he turned, walking back inside. Morgan followed him, his teeth chewing at his lip, unable to think of anything but the steadfast certainty that his sister had been outside.

Graham headed upstairs without a word and it took Morgan a moment to realize where his father was going. Bo's bedroom door was in exactly the position it had been left the night before, as if nothing unusual had occurred, and Morgan bit his lip, aware of how unbelievable the whole situation looked.

Graham pushed at the door gently, peering into the room, and even though he suspected what his father would find by this point, it was still difficult to stifle a gasp.

Bo was lying curled up in bed, fast asleep, her thumb tucked into her mouth, as was her wont, her face relaxed in dreams. Her eyelids fluttered, lashes brushing her cheek, covers wound comfortably around her. She certainly gave no sign of having been outside recently.

Graham raised an eyebrow and then gently raised the covers off the bottom of the bed, exposing his daughter's bare feet. They were clean, smooth-unlike Morgan's, which were damp with dirt. Graham turned, dropping the duvet cover, and giving his son a long look.

"I'm not lying!" Morgan protested, painfully aware of how hollow the claim sounded. "Dad, I swear-"

His father sighed. "If this was a joke, Morgan, it wasn't very funny."

Morgan stared at him. "Dad, it wasn't a joke! She was there, I know she was there-" He could feel his chest tightening, his voice rising in pitch. "Dad, you've got to-"

"Daddy?" They both turned at the confused whisper from the bed. Bo was sitting upright, her eyes on her brother and her father, puzzlement radiating from her in waves.

Graham shot his son a warning look before placing a comforting hand on his daughter's shoulder. "Go back to sleep, sweetheart. Nothing to worry about." He planted a kiss on her forehead. "Morgan just had a bad dream."

"It wasn't a dream" Morgan protested, but his words lacked conviction.

Bo blinked, snuggling back down under the bedclothes. "Night, Morgan." Her voice was soft, her eyelids already dropping again, as she slid back into sleep. Morgan stared at her. He could tell when his sister was faking sleep or exhaustion and right now, she didn't seem to be doing either.

Graham sighed, staring down at his daughter. "Sleep well" he whispered, but she was already unaware of his voice.

He placed a hand on Morgan's shoulder, steering him out of the room, before gently pulling the door to behind him. He turned, with a long sigh, to look at his son.

"Dad, she was there, I promise she was there-"

Graham pushed a hand through his hair. "Maybe you just had a dream, Morgan." He turned toward the top of the stairs. "I'll go and check the front door if you want." His head disappeared down the steps before Morgan could reply.

He turned to stare at his sister's bedroom, his mind racing through one theory after another. What had happened? What the hell _could_ have happened?

Graham reappeared moments later, shaking his head. "Front door's locked. Everything's locked, including the windows" he said, touching Morgan's shoulder. "It must have been a dream."

"What about my feet?" Morgan argued, pointing at them. "They were damp when I came up here."

Graham shrugged helplessly. "Maybe you were sleepwalking?" He sighed. "Look, let's discuss it in the morning, OK? But I don't think there's any danger in going back to bed now."

Morgan sighed, his shoulders slumped in defeat. Seeing his son's expression, Graham reached out to ruffle his hair, and for once, Morgan didn't push him away. "I believe you think you saw something" his father said quietly. "I know you're not lying. I just think it might not be as real as you believe. OK?"

It wasn't OK, not nearly OK. But Morgan knew that, at this hour, it was the best his father could offer.

With a last look at his sister's bedroom door, he turned back to his own room. He wondered just how much sleep he was going to get.

* * *

Isabelle's eyes opened slowly, and she sighed, shifting closer to Merrill as she did so. His arms were still around her, and he murmured something that she didn't catch.

"What is it?" She turned over, her arms looping around his neck. "What's wrong?"

Merrill sighed and let his head fall onto her shoulder, and it was then that she noticed his eyes were still closed. Whatever he'd said, he wasn't awake for it. She closed her eyes, letting herself move against his chest. "Just dreaming" she whispered, planting a kiss on his shoulder. Merrill often murmured in his sleep, though she doubted he was aware of it. She wondered if he dreamt more often than he claimed.

Merrill shifted against her, and his arms wound tighter around her. "Izzy-" Her name on his lips in sleep was as clear as in any waking hour. His arms tightened around her almost painfully. "Izzy, no-"

Isabelle raised her head to look at him. "What?" she whispered, disconcerted. "Merrill?" She shook him gently. "Merrill?"

But he didn't say anything, and after a moment, his grip on her relaxed, his dreams apparently peaceful again. Isabelle watched him for a moment, her eyes narrowed, before slowly settling into his arms again.

It took her a while to fall back asleep.

* * *

The first thing Merrill thought of when he woke up was Isabelle. The second thing he thought, irrationally, was that he was glad she was still there. Images swam in his head from the previous night's dreams-he couldn't remember anything clearly, but all of them left him with a vague sense of unease, a strange, unnerving uncertainty.

Isabelle sighed and turned against him, and he watched her, still filled with an uncanny relief that she was there. He watched her, taking her in, a thousand little details leaping out-the exact shade of her skin, the way his hands could get lost in her hair, the curve of her hips, the way she buried her head right in the crook of his neck, her lips gliding behind his ear, the way her eyes could smile when she looked at him...

Isabelle sighed, her hand sliding into his even before her eyes opened. "Hey.." Her voice was low, her lips already curving into a smile. He planted a quick kiss on her forehead, feeling that same sense of relief washing over him again, relishing the feeling of her so close to him. "Hey. Sleep OK?"

"Watching me while I sleep?" The mischief in her gaze was all too clear and Merrill felt his own lips break into a grin, as Isabelle pulled him closer, her head nestling against his chest, ear over his heart. His hand stroked her hair and after a moment, she raised her head, her lips ghosting over his. "You sleep OK?"

He nodded slowly, and frowned as she raised an eyebrow. "What?"

Isabelle shook her head. "You just had a few nightmares, that's all."

"I did?" Merrill sat up straighter, pulling her with him-she grinned and settled her head on his shoulder, planting a kiss below his ear.

"Yeah. You were saying my name a lot. And you sounded kinda panicky." Izzy turned to face him, her hand playing over his. "Then you just went back to sleep. You remember any of it?"

Merrill shook his head. "Not really-" Vague images danced in his mind. Izzy's name on his lips, just out of his reach...

Isabelle frowned. "Maybe just a dream." She straightened up a little, pushing her hair out of her eyes. "Any news about Ray Reddy yet?"

Merrill rolled his eyes. "Let me check my Psychic Message Inbox."

Isabelle raised an eyebrow. "Wow. Your humour just descended to a new low."

"I thought it was brilliant."

"Of course you did." Izzy's lips brushed his as she tickled him playfully, before her eyes narrowed, and that worried pucker returned to her forehead. "Seriously, I need to know."

Merrill sighed. "Well, we're going to Graham's for breakfast. See if he knows anything then."

Isabelle sighed, leaning against him. "OK, but-" She fiddled with her hair, eyes absorbed in some distant rumination.

Merrill nudged her gently. "You OK?"

Isabelle nodded, her eyes meeting his once again. "Yeah. Just thinking-what happened last night-" She swallowed. "It was weird, wasn't it?"

Merrill nodded, fighting back the warning voice in his head. "Yeah, it was weird-"

Isabelle chewed her lip. "So, what if other weird stuff starts happening?"

Merrill pulled her closer. "Don't worry. Worrying's not going to change anything. And it's-" He struggled for a moment. "It's not what you're thinking about."

He knew all too well what she was thinking about, because the thoughts had crossed his mind too.

Isabelle stared at him. "But that's what we all said, last time" she pointed out. "And how can we be sure, Merrill?"

She looked so anxious, so pent-up that it tugged at Merrill's heart and he pulled her closer. "We don't know" he pointed out, mouth half-muffled in her hair. "But we can't just keep worrying about it."

Isabelle opened her mouth to argue, then sighed. "I just wish we knew, that's all" she muttered, before leaning into Merrill again, letting her head lie against his chest.

Merrill brushed his lips against hers', trying to push the thought out of his own head. He was used to dispelling any worries Isabelle brought to him with the simple glib assurance that things would work out for the best. And most of the time, they did. They'd worked out when she was stressed over her college final exams. They'd worked out when she was worried about Morgan and Bo going back to school after everything that had happened the previous summer. They'd worked out after pretty much every worry that Izzy got into her head.

Merrill could only hope that they would this time, too.

* * *

The corn crops waved innocuously back and forth in the air, as Isabelle sat slumped on the porch, head on Merrill's shoulder. Morgan sat cross-legged on the grass, absent-mindedly petting the dog, his eyes distant. Isabelle had made several attempts at conversation with him, but nothing seemed to spark any interest, and after a while, she had given up.

Bo was climbing up the jungle gym, her hands gripping the railings of the ladder tightly, her voice occasionally ringing through the air, as she shrieked for her family to watch. Isabelle tracked her niece with her eyes lazily, watching the way her hands waved above her head, the excited whirlwind of her body. Bo was growing up, but a child still lived in her skin.

She bent her head to Merrill's ear. "What's up with Morgan?" She indicated her morose-looking nephew with a tilt of the head, tugging at her hair.

Merrill tilted his face to look at her, his lips an inch from her cheek. "Teenage stuff?" His eyebrow raised, making Isabelle shiver slightly. She moved closer to him, her lips brushing his neck.

Merrill's eyes closed for a moment and when he spoke, his voice was slightly uneven. Isabelle's grin undid him even more. "I'll speak to him if you want" he said, when he could trust himself to speak clearly.

Isabelle's grin vanished as quickly as it had appeared. "Maybe he won't say" she mused, tugging at her hair. "He's been pretty averse to being treated like a kid, recently."

Merrill sighed, tipping his head against hers'. "Then maybe, he won't want me asking." He shrugged, pulling Isabelle's hands into his. "When I was his age, I spent most of the time looking like that." He indicated Morgan with a jerk of the head. "In fact, I spent most of the time with that exact expression on my face."

"Moody, were you?" Isabelle's voice was teasing, her eyes staring into his, her smile almost light enough that Merrill could believe that the anxious girl he'd seen there that morning had vanished, that Isabelle had never worried a day in her life. But if he looked closer, he could see.

He could always see.

He pressed a kiss to her hair. "Maybe." The comment drew a smirk from her lips and Merrill pulled her closer again. His eyes rested on his nephew, who would usually be calling out to them by this point, requesting that they remember that they weren't alone, and to stop that, for God's sake, before he was scarred for life. But Morgan remained silent, his eyes focused on some point in the near-distance.

"God-" Merrill's voice was faint and Isabelle turned to look at him, eyes narrowing. "What?"

Merrill shook his head slowly, his own eyes closed. "I just referred to _when I was his age."_ He shook his head. "It's like I'm one step away from needing a walking stick."

Isabelle snorted. "Merrill. Be realistic. You're twenty-seven. You're not exactly about to pick up a Zimmer frame."

He shook his head, the familiar smile back at his lips. "This from the girl who freaked out over no longer being able to watch Disney cartoons last night."

Isabelle elbowed him playfully, her head back on his shoulder. She sighed and the warmth of her mouth near his neck made him shudder. He let his hand slide into her hair, the warm weight slipping over his fingers.

Graham's footsteps had them both sitting up, moving a little apart from each other. "How's the almost-teenager over there?" He indicated his son, sinking down beside Merrill, his eyes narrowed. Isabelle turned behind her, eyes scanning the house. "Pancakes ready?"

Merrill rolled his eyes but before he could say anything, Graham was speaking. "We had a bit of trouble last night."

"Trouble?" Isabelle was staring at her brother-in-law, eyes wide, and Merrill noticed how her gaze automatically flickered to Morgan before moving cautiously to Bo, and finally settling on the cornfields beyond.

Graham sighed, before launching into a brief explanation of the events of the night before. Merrill and Isabelle listened as he related how Morgan had woken him up with the news that his sister was outside, only for Graham to find Bo tucked up in bed.

"What do you reckon?" he asked, when the story was complete. "Just a nightmare?"

Merrill shrugged. "Probably." He glanced at Isabelle for support. "I mean, it doesn't sound like he was making it up." His eyes rested on his nephew's bowed head.

Isabelle shook her head. "It's never been like Morgan to make things up. Not like that, anyway. But this-" She shook her head, her own eyes clouding over for an instant.

"You had nightmares last night." This, addressed to Merrill, made him jump.

"Yeah, you mentioned."

Graham frowned. "Bad night for everyone it seems."

"How's Ray?" Isabelle asked immediately, while Merrill restrained himself from rolling his eyes with great difficulty.

Graham sighed. "He's doing a little better, from what I've heard. I phoned them this morning-he's still in intensive care and they're running tests. But there's no visitors allowed today so-" He shook his head slowly. "They just don't understand what could cause seizures like that. None of the hallmarks of any usual conditions are showing up."

Isabelle frowned. "This, Morgan-" She glanced at Merrill. "Your nightmares-"

Merrill knew what was coming. "Izzy-" He slid his arm around her shoulders. "It's probably not anything like that."

"How do you know?" Her voice was sharper than he'd expected. "We didn't think it was anything like that last time."

"How do I know?" His own voice was louder, too. "I know because-because everything isn't a freaking alien invasion! Sometimes, weird stuff can just happen and that's all it is-just weird stuff! God, sometimes things are just-"

He broke off at the look on Isabelle's face. Her eyes were wide, and she was staring at him, her lips slightly parted. She was trembling, a vague vibration under his hands, and dimly, Merrill became aware that he was shaking too, his own fists clenched.

"Merrill-" Graham's voice broke through the haze that seemed to have taken over his brain, the words shattering the red mist that had formed in front of his eyes. His brother's hand was on his shoulder, a warning touch familiar to Merrill from childhood, from years of being held back from fights, from rushing in without thinking.

His eyes focused on Isabelle's face, the colour drained from her cheeks, her eyes wide with shock. Rage left his body as abruptly as if it had been sucked away, leaving nothing behind, but a vague, hollow emptiness, already tinged with the beginnings of regret and, when he looked into Isabelle's eyes, a wave of horror.

"Izzy-" He pushed his hand through his hair. "God, Izzy, I'm sorry, I don't know what I was-" He closed his eyes, struggling to get his bearings. He couldn't even remember why he'd started shouting, when his voice had gotten louder. "Izzy, God, I'm so sorry, I'm so, so sorry-" Her mouth had closed tight now, but her eyes looked suspiciously moist.

Merrill pushed his hands against his eyes, still reeling. What the hell had happened? Why had he shouted at her? Why had he- All he could remember was the rage suddenly rushing through his body, with the force of a wave. And now-now all he could see was Isabelle.

"Izzy,-" His arm slid around her shoulders again, tilting her face to his. Dimly, he became aware that Bo's laughter had died away, and when he glanced up, he was met with the sight of the little girl's eyes, wide and staring, as they watched him and Isabelle. She was stock still at the top of the slide and even Morgan had broken free from his stupor to stare at him.

Graham stood up. "OK." He walked to the jungle gym, already holding out his arms to lift Bo from the top of the slide. "Time to eat." Bo slid into his arms, her eyes still fixed on Merrill and Isabelle. Morgan was watching them shrewdly, his eyes narrowed.

"Morgan." Graham's tone was slightly sharper this time. "Come on."

Morgan moved slowly, but he got to his feet, following his father inside, his eyes fixed on Merrill and Isabelle. Bo's voice sounded through the air, high and clear, as her father carried her. "Is Isabelle OK?"

"She's fine, Bo-" Merrill did not hear the rest of Graham's answer, as he carried his daughter inside, tactfully shutting the door behind him.

Merrill turned to face Isabelle. "Izzy, I'm sorry, I didn't mean it, I never meant it, I promise-"

She shrugged, her gaze turned away, her shoulders tight. Merrill caught the telltale tapping of her foot-a sure sign of rising tension, and was seized with a longing to bite out his own tongue.

"I'm sorry-" He couldn't say anything but that, frantically scanning the previous few minutes for anything that could have triggered the fury that had swept through him, whatever had made him-

Isabelle tilted her head to look at him. "You know, you can tell me if I'm annoying you" she said, her voice strangely tight, restrained. "I'd rather know, Merrill."

"Jesus, Izzy, you don't annoy me-" But then why had he shouted at her? The thought had barely crossed his mind, when he saw the same question reflected in Isabelle's eyes.

He swallowed, winding her hair around his fingers. "I didn't mean to yell at you." The words held a hint of a pleading undertone. "I just-"

"You just what?" Izzy ducked her head forward, her eyes veiled, secretive.

Merrill stared at her. "I just got-I don't know, I just-" He bit his lip. "I didn't mean it, OK?" He leaned closer to her. "I'm sorry." He waited until she looked at him, her eyes meeting his, and his hand stroked the skin of her cheek, his thumb ghosting under her lips. "I'm sorry, Izzy."

Isabelle looked at him for a long moment, her eyes inscrutable, before she tilted her head, letting her lips brush across his.

Merrill's hands slid into her hair, braiding strands of it between his fingers, his heart twisting with relief. All he could think about was that moment he'd lost it-those moments he'd been shouting at her-and he couldn't even remember what had made him so furious now. All he could remember was the look on Izzy's face as she watched him-the way she'd stared at him, stunned into silence by the tirade.

Izzy was kissing him gently, her lips soft and warm and it took some effort for Merrill to pull away. "I mean it, Izzy. I'm sorry. I'll-" He stared at her, wishing for some way to show her how sorry he was, to prove it.

Isabelle laid her head against his shoulder, nestling into him the way she had done so many times before. "I get worked up about stupid stuff." She pulled at her hair, her eyes distracted. "Don't blame you for losing it."

"You should." Merrill pressed a kiss to her hair. "I shouldn't have said it."

Isabelle turned to him with a smile. "You don't have to keep apologizing, you know. It's OK."

Merrill nodded and smiled, but somehow, he didn't think it was. At least, not with him.

* * *

After the usual breakfast kerfuffle, with Bo insisting that her pancakes be spread with exactly the right amount of syrup, and Morgan shrugging his shoulders in response to most questions, Graham eyed his younger brother curiously as he shoved the dishes into the sink. Merrill's eyes were trained on Isabelle, clearly visible through the kitchen window, crouched beside Morgan on the lawn.

"So-" said Graham, deliberately keeping his voice low. He watched his daughter climb back onto the jungle gym, her voice high with excitement. "What was all that about?"

Merrill jerked as if fending off a fly. "What?"

Graham raised an eyebrow. His brother had never been able to fool him, not since they were children and he'd been able to see through Merrill's strenuous denials that he was the one who'd taken the last cookie from the jar. Merrill sighed and turned back to the dishes.

"You mean with Isabelle." It wasn't a question.

Graham shrugged, waiting in silence for his brother's answer.

Merrill sighed. "I don't know. I just-" He closed his eyes, struggling to remember the moment that rage had ripped through his body, just watching her. Just listening to her worry. He dug his teeth into his lip.

"I just lost it, Graham." He turned to look at his brother. "It was-it freaked me out. I couldn't even-_control _it. It was like I just-lost it. I didn't even know I'd done it until I was shouting at her. Why did I-" He pushed his hand through his hair. "I don't even know why" he finished, so quietly that Graham had to strain to hear the words.

Graham watched his brother in silence for a moment. He knew Merrill. He knew him inside out, had done since the day he was born-knew he would never hurt Isabelle, not if his life depended on it. He knew that as surely as he knew his own name.

And yet, he'd seen that look in Merrill's eyes, when he'd fastened his hand onto his brother's shoulder, the same way he'd done countless times as a child, pulling him back from a playground scuffle. He'd seen that look and it had sent a chill down his spine.

It hadn't looked like his brother.

Graham sighed and turned back to the dishes. "You can go out and talk to her, if you want."

"Already did." Merrill sighed, holding a mug in one hand, his eyes fixed on a spot outside the window, lost in contemplation. "Told her I was sorry about a million times. She's OK with it, I think, but-" He shook his head. "_Why _did I lose it, Graham?"

Graham looked at his brother-a long, searching look. "I don't know" was all he said, before turning back to the dishes. Merrill's eyes remained focused on the window, staring at Isabelle through the glass, so that he missed the intensity of his elder brother's gaze, the long moment in which Graham watched Merrill with something remarkably like worry in his eyes.

* * *

"So-" Isabelle sprawled next to Morgan in the grass. "Your dad tells me you had some nightmares last night?"

Morgan, who had been staring moodily into space, snapped out of whatever trance he'd fallen into. "God, it _wasn't _a nightmare. I don't know why he won't just believe me."

"Don't you?" Isabelle's voice was sharp and her eyes met Morgan's for a long moment. Morgan stared at her. She was as familiar to him as his own sister-he could remember childhood hours spent with Isabelle, yanking the duvet over his and Bo's heads, whispering hour-long stories to them that could send them into fits of giggles or storms of terror. She'd always collapsed laughing, afterwards, and Morgan had always thought she looked far younger when she did so, almost as young as them.

He sighed. "Yeah. Because it sounds unbelievable. It sounds like some stupid story or nightmare. But it was real." He stared at her. "I know it was real."

Isabelle knew how it felt not to be believed. She'd spent her entire childhood having people misunderstand the fears that plagued her everyday life-having things lined up straight, tasting the water over and over, checking her schoolwork numerous times. All behaviours that had been dismissed alternately as "silly", "infantile", or "attention-getting."

Or, in the words of her classmates, just plain "freaky".

So, now, when her nephew, who she couldn't remember lying a day in his life, was telling her a story of something beyond strange happening in his own house, to his own sister-Isabelle had to consider it.

Especially given that they were no strangers to weird events. She glanced at the cornfields and shuddered.

"You know why it sounds unbelievable to your dad, though" she continued slowly. "Even if it's true-it still sounds unbelievable to him."

Morgan looked at her. "You mean-you're saying-"

Isabelle nodded. "I believe you." She smiled at the look on his face, the grateful relief already pouring into his eyes. "But-" She held up a hand. "I don't know how easy it's going to be to convince your dad. And what's more-" She glanced at the jungle gym, her eyes narrowed. "I think we might need to keep an eye on your little sister."

Morgan stared at her. "You think she's lying?" Beyond them, Bo pulled herself up the ladder, laughing at some invisible joke, looking for all the world as though nothing unusual had occurred.

Isabelle shook her head. "No-quite the opposite. I was actually thinking that she might be telling the truth, too-or at least, she believes she is." She glanced at Morgan. "What did she seem like, when you and your dad went in to see her?"

Morgan shrugged. "Normal." He and Isabelle exchanged a look and he grinned. "I mean, normal for Bo." He suppressed a smirk as he glanced at his younger sister. "Sleepy. I mean, it didn't look like she was faking it, or anything." The grin vanished as he dug his fingernail into the grass. "I just don't know what to make of it" he muttered quietly, glancing up at Isabelle as he spoke. A part of him-the part of him that still remembered how as a child, Isabelle had been able to soothe the nightmares away as well as his own mother, how she'd always been the one to make him laugh when all he wanted to do was cry-hoped that she'd have some answer, some simple formula that would explain the entire thing, clear the whole situation up, so that they could go on like normal.

Isabelle's hand touched his shoulder. "I think we need to keep an eye on your sister" she said, her voice lower now, quiet. "Anything else happening over the next few days-tell me. We'll sort it. But let's just keep an eye on her, OK?"

It wasn't an ideal solution, but Morgan supposed that it was the best he could hope for, under the circumstances.

Morgan sighed. "Are you OK?" He didn't refer to the reason for asking. He didn't need to.

Isabelle bit her lip, unsure just how much she should be sharing with her twelve-year-old nephew. "I'm OK. It was just a fight."

"I've never seen you fight before."

Isabelle swallowed. "We don't fight that often."

Morgan bit his lip. "I guess not." He looked at her properly, this time. "Are you sure you're OK?"

Isabelle nodded. "Yeah. I'm fine. We made it up."

Morgan held up his hand. "Please don't tell me how."

Isabelle smirked. "Next time I want to annoy you, I'll torture you with the details."

"God, please, no."

Isabelle broke into laughter, and Morgan joined in. It was weird to think that Isabelle would never have talked to him like this even a year ago. Weird, but kind of cool-he was older now. Less of a kid. Not like Bo.

Isabelle sighed, curled up on the lawn. "What are your plans for today?"

"Homework." Morgan felt his face sink back into a scowl as he thought of the heaps of homework he'd received since the beginning of middle school. He rolled his eyes. "It sucks."

Isabelle winced. "Inclined to agree. Graduate school isn't much easier."

"Yeah, but at least you're studying for a career."

"I guess."

Isabelle was watching Morgan more closely now, and he frowned. "What?"

She shrugged. "Know it's early days, but have you thought about what you're going to do at some point?"

Morgan shrugged back. "No idea. Sometimes, I think about science. Other times, I think about-" He shifted uneasily. Isabelle watched him.

"What?"

"It sounds stupid."

"No, it doesn't." She frowned suddenly. "Don't tell me you're planning to be a shoplifter or something."

Morgan rolled his eyes. "Right on my To Do list."

Isabelle laughed, and he sighed. "No. I was thinking, maybe I'd want to do something to do with studying stuff like aliens. If you know, there is such a career-" He trailed off, feeling the blood rise to his cheeks.

"There is." Morgan looked at her, surprised. Isabelle nodded. "Cryptozoologist. It's a career. If psychology fell through, I'd consider it." She pulled at her hair. "It's all based on scientific tests and stuff."

Morgan shrugged. "Something to think about."

They both turned at the sound of a door opening behind them, the footsteps clattering over the steps. Merrill was heading over the grass toward them, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. He slumped down next to Isabelle, his hand reaching for hers'. Isabelle nestled under his arm.

Morgan watched them for a moment, but not with his eyes rolling, as they usually were when he saw them acting like this. This time, his thoughts were straying back to the moment less than an hour before, when he'd seen his uncle's eyes as he shouted. Shouted, in a way Morgan had never heard Merrill do before. He hadn't looked like Morgan's uncle, then. He'd looked like a stranger.

Morgan pushed the thought out of his mind.

Isabelle pressed her lips to his uncle's cheek, and Merrill kissed her hair quickly, before throwing his nephew a quick wink. Morgan rolled his eyes.

It was at that moment that Bo's voice rung through the air. "Morgan!"

"What?" Morgan scrambled to his feet as he spotted Bo frozen with her back to the group on the lawn. She was standing at the top of the slide, her fists clenched. Her long hair waving in the wind was the only indication of movement about her body.

"Bo?" Isabelle, too, was pulling herself upright, Merrill moving with her. "Do you need help getting down?"

They were moving forward together, now, the three of them in unison. Morgan swallowed, his chest tightening. He patted his pocket, assuring himself of the continued presence of his inhaler.

"Bo?" Isabelle broke free of the line, hurrying forward to the jungle gym. "What's wrong, sweetheart?"

She stepped onto the ladder, pulling herself upward by the hands, into the jungle gym's small cabin area, where Bo stood. "What's wrong-" Her voice trailed off, as she saw what Bo was staring at.

Nestled into the very corner of the cabin, where they could barely be glimpsed in the shadows, were two baby birds. They were curled around one another, their feathers coated in dust.

Their heads were both separated from their necks. They were nestled together, the two beaks touching, on top of the bodies, like a trophy or an offering.

Isabelle clapped her hand to her mouth. "Oh, my God-oh my goodness, Bo-come here, sweetheart-"

Bo didn't move. She stood still, her eyes on the bodies. They were wide, the pupils dilated. Her face was pale, her mouth hanging open oddly, almost a gash in her face.

"Bo!" Isabelle's voice was sharper now. By this time, Morgan and Merrill had both reached the foot of the ladder, both craning their necks to catch a glimpse of the source of Bo's distraction.

Merrill, being the taller, saw the birds first. His eyes widened. "Jesus-"

"Bo!" Isabelle was curled inside the jungle gym now, careful to keep herself as far away from the birds as possible. "Bo, sweetheart, what's happening?"

Bo wasn't moving. Instead, her eyes had become glassy, her whole body frozen. Her eyes were trained on the birds. A bead of sweat was making its' way from her hairline to her cheek. For a moment, Morgan wondered if his little sister was about to throw up.

But she didn't. She just stood there.

"BO!" Isabelle reached out to touch the little girl's arm then-and Bo pulled away.

Morgan stared at his sister in shock. So much for just keeping an eye on Bo.

"Bo?" It was Graham's voice, and Morgan turned in relief at the sight of his father. "What's going on?"

"Bo's found two dead birds" explained Merrill, without taking his eyes off his niece. His voice was tight in his throat. "And she's not speaking."

"What?" Graham stepped between his son and his brother, his arms pulling him onto the jungle gym ladder rungs. "Bo?"

His eyes widened at the sight of Isabelle, crammed into the jungle gym with his daughter. His sister-in-law turned to stare at him imploringly over her shoulder. "She won't speak, Graham."

"Bo?" Graham leaned forward, his eyes taking in the sight of the birds and his motionless daughter in one swift glance. "Bo, sweetheart-what's wrong?"

Bo did not speak. Her face seemed to be growing paler by the moment.

"Bo?" Graham's own face was whitening, his eyes fixed on his daughter. Isabelle was frozen. "She wouldn't let me touch her" she whispered to Graham. "She yanked away from me."

Graham's eyes narrowed. "Bo?" Slowly, his arm stretched out, coming nearer and nearer to her skin. "Bo?"

Morgan was frozen, watching his father. Merrill's eyes were trained on Isabelle, who was staring at Bo, as though she was afraid that the little girl would vanish the second her gaze wavered.

Graham's hand was closer to Bo's arm. "Bo?" His fingers were an inch from her skin.

And then she moved.

Her mouth opened and then she lifted her eyes. Her gaze locked with Isabelle's first, before roaming to Merrill's and Morgan's faces, taking in their anxious expressions, before finally landing on Graham.

"Daddy?" Her voice was quavering and thin, and she took a step toward her father-carefully avoiding the birds, and allowing Isabelle to take her hand in support.

"Careful, sweetheart." He lowered himself by a rung. She stepped into his open arms, her hands settling behind his neck. He hugged her to him, stepping back to allow Merrill room to reach out for Isabelle, who was sliding out of the cabin after her niece.

"Do you remember what happened, sweetheart?" The words were a soft murmur, but his daughter heard them.

"I didn't like the birds." That was all that came out of her mouth. "I didn't like the birds." Graham was already carrying her toward the house.

"Merrill?" He turned, looking at his younger brother over his shoulder. "Could you maybe-" He gestured at the jungle gym. "Get rid of the-"

"Are you going to tell Caroline?" Graham's eyes locked with his younger brother's, a moment of unspoken conversation.

"I don't know."

Merrill sighed. "Shouldn't we leave them where they are, then?"

Graham wavered, torn for a moment. "Take a picture of them. And if anything else happens, then we'll get Caroline in." His eyes were faintly pleading and he indicated his daughter with a jerk of the head. "Can you just take care of it while I-" Once again, he indicated Bo.

They were too far away to hear clearly, but Isabelle was fairly sure she caught the sound of Bo's voice on the air, saying something to the effect of "_not _a baby...can _hear _you." Graham's answer was lost in the distance between them.

She turned to Merrill, her eyes landing on the jungle gym. "What the hell's going on?" The words were a murmur, but Merrill shook his head.

"No idea." He sighed, tugging at his shirt. "But I'd better get them out of there before Bo sees them and freaks out again." He raised an eyebrow. "Save the best job for me, like always."

It was a joke, but Isabelle barely smiled. Instead, she and her nephew exchanged a long glance, before turning their gazes on the sky. It suddenly seemed a lot greyer than earlier, clouds hanging ominously over their heads, and Isabelle shivered, despite the warmth of the day. The breeze picked up, sending the tops of the corn swaying in rhythm, silent dancers in the field, facing the house. Isabelle knew it was silly, knew they were only corn crops, but she couldn't get rid of the feeling that they were quietly, constantly watching.

**Soundtrack:**

**1. Hotel Roosevelt by Augustana**

**2. Believer by Kill Hannah**

**3. Cemetery Drive by My Chemical Romance**

**4. Conspiracy by Paramore**

**5. Gleaming Auction by Snow Patrol**

**6. What Difference Does It Make? by the Smiths.**

**Leave a review if you liked it!**


	3. Resorts and Escalations

**OK, from now on, I'm going to set regular dates for the chapters to be updated just because it'll be easier. So, Chapter 4 will be posted January 2nd. So this is the chapter where I say Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year, as well. :) Guys, by the way, let me know if the rating's OK-I don't think there's anything here that's unsuitable for a T rating, but let me know if you think it might be an issue.**

**Thank you for the reviews, and please continue to review if you like it. Here's Chapter Three.**

I stared at the paper in front of me, a few words dotted over the page. The first draft of this essay was not going well.

I pushed my hair off my face, closing my eyes for a moment, my elbows digging into the bedcovers. Morgan's face danced behind my eyelids and I shuddered, thinking of the way he'd looked at his sister that morning-that confused, scared look-almost as if he was afraid of her.

And I knew I wouldn't have blamed him.

I couldn't lie to myself-I knew something wasn't right with Bo. Graham had asked her question after question, and yielded few results. All she would say was that she hadn't liked the birds, and finally, Graham had decided to let the matter drop.

I sighed, and turned back to the essay. Graham had promised to call the second something else happened, or if there was any news of Ray Reddy, but the few notes I'd scrawled on the page still weren't holding my attention.

Merrill's lips brushed my cheek, his arms sliding round my shoulders. "How's the essay going?" His mouth moved to under my ear, and I shivered, closing my eyes.

"I've got three words down on the page." Merrill's laughter echoed in my ear as I turned to face him, my mouth brushing his. His fingers were combing through my hair, as he pulled me to him, each kiss deepening with the seconds that passed.

Merrill's mouth moved to my neck, his fingers dancing across my skin, as my hand let go of my pen, letting it drop onto my notepad. "I'm supposed to be working" I whispered.

Merrill raised his head, his eyes meeting mine. His lips flickered in a smile, his hand gently tilting my face to his. "Rest of your life to work."

I rolled my eyes but then Merrill's mouth was on mine, and my hands had slid into his hair, and any concerns were effectively silenced. Merrill's arms were either side of my head, and I pulled myself closer to him, sliding my fingers over his stomach, enjoying his gasp as his arms tightened around my shoulders.

"Merrill-" My voice was uneven and Merrill's grin widened, as he buried his face in the crook of my neck, lips whispering over my skin. Maybe it was a bad idea to study on the bed.

But it was pretty difficult to see the idea as bad right now, with Merrill's hands skating over my hips, his lips exploring my neck.

I pulled my head back to look at him. "I love you." The words came out ragged, desperate, even as he pulled me back to him for another kiss, his mouth suddenly fierce, urgent. "Love you, too."

I brushed my lips over the small scar that hovered above his lip, enjoying the low moan that rose from his throat, as I moved against him, the notepad sliding to the floor, long-forgotten. Merrill's arms were around me, holding me to him, electricity seeming to flow from wherever his skin touched mine, his eyes an inch from mine. Another kiss that made me feel as though I was melting, and my hands slid over his neck, prompting a wild sound from his throat.

And then the phone rang.

I flopped back on the bed, letting my eyes close, as Merrill pushed his hand through his hair, letting out a groan of frustration. "You've got to be kidding."

I sighed. "Can't ignore it."

Merrill raised an eyebrow. "_I _could."

I rolled my eyes, as I reached out for the phone. "Hello?"

"Isabelle?" _Graham, _I mouthed to Merrill, whose mouth was moving gently along my neck, lingering under my ear. I tried to keep my mind on Graham's voice rather than the sensation of Merrill's arms sliding around my shoulders, his hands tracing my skin.

"Hey, Isabelle." Graham's voice sounded drained, tired, and I didn't blame him. I guessed worrying that your daughter might be going insane while trying to deal with your son retreating into teenagehood might take it out of you.

"Hey." I tried batting away Merrill, who was working his way down my neck, occasionally whispering into my ear. I tried glaring at him but I couldn't summon any anger, as his hands stroked my hips, his mouth caressing my collar bone.

"How's-Morgan and Bo?" My voice was uneven, and I shook my head at Merrill, whose smirk seemed to burn beneath my skin.

"They're OK." Graham's tone was wary, guarded, and I could hear the underlying message as clearly as if he'd shouted it. _Nothing else weird has happened; not yet._

I swallowed. "Nothing else happened, then?"

A pause, then "No."

"Good." Merrill's arms were still around me, and his chin was nestling in my shoulder. I rolled my eyes but moved back against him, letting my head rest against his.

"We were just thinking, it might be an idea to take them out tonight." Graham swallowed and I shifted the phone against my ear. "To take their minds off all the weird stuff that's happened. You know the carnival?"

"Down on Wright's field? You and Colleen used to take me."

"Yeah, the fall carnival." Graham sounded a little brighter now, as though my remembrance of the place had somehow inflated the mood. "I was thinking of taking them. You and Merrill want to come along?"

I glanced at Merrill, knowing he could hear every word. He nodded quickly, his eyebrows arching. I raised the phone back to my ear. "Yeah, we'll come."

"They'll be glad." Graham's laughter echoed in my ears and I strained to hear any sound of Morgan or Bo beyond the phone-any hint of laughter, of playtime. But there was just silence, and I swallowed. Maybe they were simply out of hearing range of the phone. But I couldn't shake the feeling that the incident earlier today had unsettled them even more than we'd realised.

"See you tonight then?"

"If you and Merrill could get here for seven, it would be easier to get them a go on the rides."

"'K. And Graham?"

"Yeah?"

"Have you-" I swallowed. "Are you going to tell Caroline? About the birds?"

Beside me, Merrill stilled, his fingers still combing through my hair. There was a long silence.

"Not-" Graham said eventually, his voice lower now. "Not unless something else happens."

I bit my lip. That made sense, I supposed. Why make them freak out if there was nothing to freak out about?

Though, then again, two decapitated birds and a man lying in intensive care didn't exactly constitute nothing, or not in any dictionary I'd read.

"OK. Take it we shouldn't bring it up tonight?"

"That would be an idea."

"OK. See you, then." I shifted the phone nervously, wondering how tonight was going to go, whether Morgan and Bo would feel inclined towards going out. Maybe Morgan would insist on spending the entire night scouring the field for mysterious doppelgangers of his sister.

"See you." I hung up the phone, feeling the sense of unease I'd been carrying with me ever since Bo first discovered the birds, increase.

Merrill tilted my chin and his lips brushed across mine. Any of the unease I'd been feeling retreated to the back of my mind as I swatted him on the shoulder. "That's for distracting me on the phone!"

I couldn't keep up the charade, my words dissolving into laughter as Merrill's smirk grew more pronounced, as each kiss grew softer, as he gently lay me down against the bedcovers, his mouth nestling against my neck. I glared at him. "If I was really cruel, I'd get back to my essay right now."

Merrill closed his eyes. "But then if you did that, I'd probably die or something. So you'd have that on your conscience forever." He flicked my nose gently before lowering his mouth to mine.

"Hmmm." I closed my eyes, struggling not to squirm with the way his lips were nibbling across my neck. "Could I live with that?"

Merrill smiled, his eyes locking with mine. It was times like this that I forgot everything else in the world; times like this that made me think of everything I loved about Merrill, of just how much I loved him. His hands were on either side of my face, gently holding me to him, his lips an inch from mine.

"Could you?" he whispered, before his hand gently slid over my skin, his fingers tracing back and forth until I pulled his mouth back to mine, my words dissolving into frantic whispers, as the world seemed to fade away.

* * *

"We need to go" I whispered to Merrill, my head nestled into his shoulder. His arms were wrapped around me, and I had to struggle not to close my eyes and drift, my fingers trailing over his skin.

But, glancing at the clock, I could see that if we didn't get up in the next half-hour, we were going to be late. And I didn't fancy sending an already jittery Bo into nuclear meltdown because we made her miss the carnival.

Merrill's lips brushed my shoulders, as he rolled over, pulling me closer to him. "Five more minutes."

My head nestled against his chest. "I've got nothing done today" I whispered, running my finger down over his heart, tracing his stomach. "Your fault." I pressed a quick kiss to his shoulder, feeling his arm settle around me, his mouth skating across my neck. From my position against him, I could feel both of our heartbeats, sounding more rapidly.

Merrill's lips curved in a slow smirk. "You didn't get _nothing _done today..."

I raised an eyebrow. "One more word, Merrill-"

He laughed, brushing another kiss to my hair. I closed my eyes, wondering if my notebooks had been ruined when they dropped to the floor several hours earlier. I sighed, brushing Merrill's mouth with my own. "We've got to get up" I whispered. "Come on."

Merrill sighed and rolled over to face me. I grinned, shifting closer to him. "Carnivals" I whispered, stroking his cheek with one finger. "Rides." My fingertip danced across his lip. "Come on."

Merrill sighed, pulling me closer. "Rather stay here."

"We told them we'd go."

Merrill groaned and rolled over. "Night spent at cheap carnival in Wright's Field with worried child and almost-silent preteen. Perfect."

I planted a quick kiss on his mouth. "That's why I love you. Now, let me get dressed."

Merrill sighed, sitting upright, as I yanked the sheets further up. His eyes met mine and his lips flickered in a grin. He was looking at me quietly, the way I sometimes caught him watching me-as if he couldn't see anything but me.

"Love you." The words were so soft, they were almost inaudible, but I knew he heard. He pressed his lips to my cheek, before whispering the same words in my ear.

I grinned, pulling at my shirt from a nearby chair, trying to ignore the fact that across my lower arm, the scars were suddenly searing again.

* * *

The carnival lights were bright through the windows of Graham's station wagon as we pulled up to Wright's Field. Bo was strapped in next to me, with Morgan having already called shotgun, meaning Merrill was relegated to sitting in the back with Bo and I.

"You sure you don't want the booster seat?"

Merrill glared at the back of Morgan's head. "It should be you getting this."

I sniggered and Bo's lips curved into a grin. I watched her quietly-she seemed to be a little calmer now, and at any rate, didn't appear to be dwelling on the horrors of decapitated birds.

Graham turned round, pulling the station wagon into a parking space, while simultaneously eyeballing his children. "Now, listen. When we're in here, don't go running off. You need to stick together-it's easy to get lost. Everyone just stay near each other."

"What, us as well?" Merrill stared at his brother as if he'd lost his mind.

Graham shot us both a warning look. I took it that he hadn't quite forgotten the events earlier in the day.

Merrill rolled his eyes, but to me, he whispered "He'll have us all holding hands next."

I sniggered. In the front seat, Morgan appeared to be thinking along similar lines. "Dad, we're not going to run off. For God's sake, I'm nearly thirteen."

Graham raised an eyebrow but with a sigh, unlocked the doors.

Bo scrambled out, forgetting in her hurry to unfasten her seatbelt, proving her father right instantly.

Merrill sighed, as we both followed the children out of the car. "Graham's not going to let her out of his sight all night."

"Can you blame him?" I muttered. "I mean, she did come across two dead birds and go on a sleepwalking expedition last night." Though Bo seemed less than troubled now, skipping towards the carnival entrance, as though she hadn't a care in the world. I frowned, keeping my eyes firmly on her bobbing head, before following the kids into the field.

After fifteen minutes in the carnival, it was impossible to identify the hysterically-laughing Bo with the silent, stone-faced little girl she had been several hours earlier. She was now giggling with Morgan, who had actually cracked a couple of smiles since entering the field, and who was now yanking us eagerly toward the rollercoaster.

Merrill's hand slid into mine. "You'll scream your head off on this."

I shook my head, feeling my own smile wreathe my face. It was difficult to remember any reason to be concerned, with the laughter of children all around us, and Graham lifting Bo into his arms to tickle her.

"You'll be the one screaming."

Merrill raised an eyebrow, his arm falling around my shoulders. "Are you sure you're OK with this?" he asked Morgan, for the fourth time in the last ten minutes. "We don't have to, if you don't want to-"

Morgan shook his head. "I'm fine. I want to. I-" His voice broke off suddenly.

Merrill's mouth was by my ear. "You're sitting by him."

I elbowed him. "You're evil." My eyes narrowed as I stared past his shoulder. "Morgan-what are you doing?"

Morgan was ducking towards us, his shoulders angled oddly forwards, his eyes darting back and forth frantically. It was bizarre-his gaze was fixed, his lip caught between his teeth.

"Morgan?" My own voice rose questioningly, as my nephew turned a wide-eyed stare on me. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing!" His response was much too quick and I raised my eyebrows. His cheeks flushed, the blood rising rapidly. "I'm fine."

Merrill's eyes met mine and I could see that Morgan's protests of "being fine" weren't fooling him, either. But I couldn't see that we were going to get any more out of him, and Bo was tugging at my wrist, enquiring nervously about "how big the rollercoaster was", and Morgan's ducking and dodging was all too easily forgotten.

* * *

"OK, you didn't scream." Merrill held his hands up, conceding, as we made our way through the crowds, a triumphant Bo running ahead with her father. "But you were still scared..."

"Says the guy who held onto my arm so hard, he nearly cut off the circulation."

Merrill glared at me, but given that I'd already slung my arms around his neck and was pressed against him, my lips tugging at his earlobe, any annoyance didn't last long.

His voice whispered in my ear. "You're evil."

I brushed my lips across his cheek. "I have my moments."

Merrill's laughter was low in his throat as he kissed me again, and I remembered the last time we'd had this exchange-alone in a basement, wondering if either of us would survive the night. His arm was flung around my shoulders as Morgan darted in front of us, his head ducked once again.

"Morgan-" My voice trailed off. "What are you doing?"

Morgan turned to stare at me. "Nothing."

Merrill raised an eyebrow. "How is that "nothing?""

Morgan shrugged. "I'm fine, OK?" His gaze darted through the crowd once more, and I rolled my eyes.

Morgan quickly moved to Merrill's other side, and I stared at him. "Morgan."

He kept his head angled downwards. "Look, just leave it, OK?"

I turned to Merrill. "Would you tell him-"

My voice trailed off, as I saw Merrill doing exactly the same thing as Morgan. "Oh, for Christ's sake."

Merrill shushed me frantically, despite the fact that the noise of about a hundred others pretty much covered my voice. "Don't look over-"

"What?" I was already peering through the crowd, despite Merrill's frantic attempts to tug at my arm.

Merrill kept his eyes trained on the ground, as though his feet had suddenly become fascinating, but one word slipped out through his lips. "Pritchard."

Oh.

"So that explains why smoke appears to be pouring from your ears." Merrill glared at me and I held my hands up. "OK, wrong time."

I stepped forward, keeping my head lowered. As much as I might laugh at Merrill's attempt at avoiding him, I didn't need any further reason to dislike Lionel Pritchard.

"Don't come over...don't come over...don't come over..." Merrill's running commentary echoed in my ears as we kept our eyes on the ground.

"Merrill?" Graham was standing in front of us, Bo's arms slung around his neck, a stick of candyfloss clutched firmly in her fist. She grinned at us, her lips stained pink. "What are you doing?"

Merrill jerked his head at Lionel Pritchard in answer. Graham glanced over and rolled his eyes. "For heaven's sake-"

"He's looking over-" Morgan glanced at me, and I winced, avoiding Lionel Pritchard's gaze.

"Everyone just look at your shoes." Graham rolled his eyes once again at his younger brother's suggestion, but complied, turning away from Lionel Pritchard to stare at an arcade game, as if suddenly fascinated. Morgan and I followed suit, while I wondered quite what everyone watching us would think.

"Merrill-" Graham was talking out of the corner of his mouth, while facing the arcade game. "Don't you think it's about time that you got over this, and just began treating them like actual human beings?"

"As opposed to what?" Morgan stared at his father.

Graham struggled for a moment. "As opposed to treating them like Satan?"

"Satan would be more interesting. At least, he'd have more than one functioning brain cell."

Merrill snorted with laughter, as Graham rolled his eyes. "Thanks, Isabelle."

"OK, they're gone." Merrill glanced over his shoulder, as Morgan sighed with relief.

"Does Satan even have a brain?"

I shrugged. "Interesting question."

"I don't think he does." We all turned to look up at Bo, whose cheeks were now sporting an interesting pink pattern. She widened her eyes.

"I mean, he wouldn't have room in his head, because of those horn things. They must drill right down into his skull."

Merrill was biting his lip and I slid my hand into his as I ducked my head forward. "That's an interesting theory, Bo." Merrill and I exchanged glances. "I'll be sure to mention that in my next philosophy class."

Morgan was less adept at hiding his laughter, and Bo glared at him. "Stop laughing!"

Morgan held up his hand, still choking back mirth, and his sleeve slid down slightly. I frowned at a shadow on his skin. "Morgan, what's that on your wrist?"

Morgan jerked back, his smile vanishing as suddenly as it had appeared. "Nothing."

I frowned, but he was already quickening his pace, ducking ahead slightly. I stared at Merrill, who did not appear to have noticed the exchange.

"Do you think that's weird?" I asked him, my voice lowered.

He frowned. "What's weird?"

"That." I indicated Morgan with my head. "Didn't you hear?" Graham lifted Bo onto his shoulders as she chattered to him, now earnestly absorbed in the important discussion of whether or not the devil had a tail.

Merrill shook his head, but I was staring at Morgan, who was walking with his head ducked, occasionally casting anxious glances in the Pritchards' direction. Looking over surreptitiously, I got a glimpse of a boy about Morgan's age. He had jaw-length black hair, and had a cigarette jammed between his lips. Lionel Pritchard clapped him on the shoulder.

"Who's that?"

Morgan seemed to be doing his utmost to avoid looking at the boy. "Erm-Devon Pritchard."

"Devon." Merrill snorted. I gave him a quick glance. "I don't think anyone called Merrill should be pointing any fingers."

"He his cousin or something?" I asked Morgan, who shrugged.

"Brother, I think."

I raised an eyebrow, my gaze flickering between Morgan and Devon. "He hasn't done anything to you, has he?"

"No." Morgan shoved his hands into his pockets. I frowned, but he was already hurrying ahead, his face ducked down.

I stared at Merrill. "You think he's telling the truth?"

"No" Merrill replied, his tone as airy as if he were commenting on the weather. "I don't think he is. But I think he'll end up storming off if you say anything else."

"Why?"

Merrill gave me the look of one attempting to reason with a toddler. "Isabelle, which of us has actually been a teenage boy?"

I sighed. "I'm not answering that."

Merrill's grin widened. "Why? Is there something you're not telling me?"

"I'm so glad to see you can find this amusing."

"I'm glad, too."

I rolled my eyes, as Merrill pulled me closer to him, his arm draped around my shoulders. "Leave it. They'll work it out themselves. They'll probably end up best friends or something."

"Yeah." I leaned closer to him. "But if they don't, can we have it on record now that Graham will bill you personally for his son's therapy?"

Merrill shrugged. "Maybe Morgan will win." There was a slightly dreamy look in his eyes.

I stared at him. "Are you actually hoping they'll get into a fight and Morgan will win?"

"No!" Merrill's denial was a little too rapid to be entirely believable and I glared at him. "Merrill-"

Merrill shook his head, his eyes wide.

"God, Merrill, that's like telling him to get a gang of his own friends together to beat up the big kid-"

Merrill's smirk wasn't suppressed in time. I stared at him. "You didn't."

"I didn't tell him!"

"Good." I shot him another look. "Why are you smirking?"

"I was just thinking-" He stared at me. "Didn't you once say you did the big kid's homework for them so they'd beat Lionel Pritchard up behind the changing rooms?"

My mouth opened and closed like a goldfish. "I-these situations have no similarity whatsoever."

Merrill nodded. "Of course they don't."

I glared at him.

* * *

"Well, that went well." Several hours after our arrival, we were heading back to the station wagon. Bo was still hanging on to her father's shoulders, chewing the remainder of her candyfloss. Apparently, the strange events of the night before had been pretty much forgotten.

Morgan shrugged. "Uncle Merrill thought Isabelle would scream on the rollercoaster."

"I didn't" I pointed out, kissing Merrill's cheek before turning to glance at Morgan. "He did, though."

Merrill rolled his eyes, as Morgan sniggered, walking ahead of us, before stopping dead.

"What's wrong?" I stared at him as Morgan froze still, his fists clenched at his sides.

"Don't let Bo see this." He turned to his father.

"What's wrong, Morgan?" Graham was already sliding Bo off his shoulders, handing her to Merrill. Her arms looped straight around Merrill's neck, her eyes finding his for a moment, before she turned to stare at me, over his head.

Graham's voice was determinedly calm, but his eyes were wide. "Morgan, tell me what's wrong."

In answer, Morgan pointed at the foot of the station wagon.

I squinted past Bo's head and managed to drop my hand over her eyes before she could get a look.

Three dead birds were lying at the foot of the station wagon. All of them had their heads removed, placed neatly on top of the bodies. Their legs were bent and severed. Some of their feathers looked as if they'd been torn out.

Merrill's eyes widened. "Holy shit."

I elbowed him and he blinked as his eyes focused on Bo's. "Oh-"

"You're not supposed to say that word" Bo reminded him quietly. She shook her finger solemnly, her eyes huge.

Merrill stared at his niece, apparently still adjusting to the idea of being reprimanded by a first-grader. "Sorry-"

Graham was kicking the birds aside as rapidly as possible, his hand on his son's shoulder. Morgan had his inhaler raised to his lips, his cheeks pale.

Merrill's teeth were gritted but I could tell he was trying to rearrange his face into a smile as he looked at Bo. "Sorry, Bo-"

"There's birds again, aren't there?" she said simply, looking at me this time.

"Bo-"

"Aren't there?" She stared at me now, her face perfectly calm apart from the tiny tremble of her lips.

I sighed and nodded quickly. It wasn't as though she wouldn't find out eventually.

Graham stepped towards us, holding his arms out for his daughter, having kicked the bodies out of the way. One small decapitated head was lying in front of the tyre and I avoided looking at it. I wasn't usually squeamish but something about the sharpness of the beak, the eye that stared without seeing, made me step closer to Merrill, my hand searching for his.

His fingers were warm around mine and he lifted his eyes to his brother's. Graham didn't look away as he spoke, his voice low. "First thing tomorrow morning, I'm calling Caroline."

The words sent chills down my spine. All I could remember was another night, more than a year ago now...a shadow at the window...a figure on the roof...a swing, moving back and forth...

Last time we had called Caroline, it had turned out to be more than any of us could handle. And I wasn't keen for a repeat performance. I always did hate reruns.

Merrill didn't speak, but he nodded. We both followed Graham towards the car. I winced as I glanced at the decapitated bird head, knowing that I'd jump at every bump on the ride home, convinced it was the skull being crushed beneath the wheels of the car.

The bird's eye held mine, and I couldn't look away. Even as I got into the station wagon, slamming the door behind me, I couldn't get rid of the bizarre idea that the bird was pleading with me.

Or with whatever had killed it.

* * *

"I bet it was Lionel Pritchard." Merrill barely waited until Morgan and Bo were inside the house before turning to Graham. I sighed, burying my head in his shoulder.

"No offence, Merrill, but I think it might be kind of difficult for Lionel Pritchard to make Bo climb out of her bedroom window."

Merrill rolled his eyes. "He could have been the one who put the-"

Graham held up his hands. "Merrill, look. Someone was responsible. And we'll find out who it was. I just-" He sighed. "Look, you remember what happened the last time we just assumed something was Lionel Pritchard."

I shivered. Merrill had already had his mouth open to reply but he glanced at me. I stared back at him, my hand dancing over his.

He sighed and Graham's hand slid onto his younger brother's shoulder. "Look. Let's wait until Caroline comes out to speak to us tomorrow. Then, we'll have a better idea."

Merrill refused to meet his brother's gaze.

"Merrill-" Graham's voice trailed off, but there was no denying the tone.

Merrill sighed. "Fine."

I stared at the house. I'd already whispered a goodnight to Morgan and Bo, but somehow, I didn't think they'd be getting much sleep tonight.

The drive back home was silent, Merrill's eyes distant as he focused on the road. I watched him, taking in the tension in his shoulders, the tightness of his jaw. I knew he hadn't been convinced by his brother's explanation and I knew he wanted to entertain the possibility of the events having any paranormal cause even less than I did.

I guessed now would be a bad time to tell him about the scars on my wrist burning, as though something had raked them open again.

We pulled into the driveway, and the headlights flickered once before dying as Merrill twisted the keys in the ignition. He slumped back in the seat, pushing his hands over his eyes. I stared at him, taking in the shadows at the top of his cheekbones, the way his head slipped forward into his hands.

"Hey." I reached out, touching his hand tentatively. He didn't pull away, which I took as a good sign. He tilted his head to look at me, his eyes bright in the darkness.

I opened my mouth but any words were cut off by a faint howl in the distance. I froze, my eyes on Merrill's, his hand suddenly gripping mine.

A short silence and it was a few moments before I dared to take another breath.

"Just a coyote" I whispered, my eyes on his. "It was just a coyote."

Merrill didn't blink but nodded slowly. He was biting his lip and I knew the signs-he was concealing something, something he didn't want me to know.

I shifted closer to him, my hand stroking his cheek. "Tell me" I whispered, my voice soft. My other arm slipped around his shoulders, holding him closer to me, fingertips dancing over his skin.

Merrill turned to stare at me, and I watched him, my chin nestled into his shoulder. He blinked, chewing at his lip and I nodded, encouraging him to speak.

"It's just-" He blinked, turning away from me for a moment, before his eyes found mine again. "I didn't think-"

"What?" I moved closer, my cheek brushing his. "What is it, Merrill?"

Merrill tugged at his sleeve, my fingers closing over his. "It's just-" He shifted closer to me, his head falling onto my shoulder.

My lips nudged at his cheek, my mouth against his ear. "Tell me."

Merrill's eyes were burning into mine. "I'm scared, Izzy." The words slipped from his lips, like a secret. Which, I supposed, they were. He bit his lip. "I don't know what's going on, I-"

"Hey-" My arms slid around his shoulders, my face buried in his neck. "Come here, hey-" I traced my lips under his eyes, over the scar above his lip, along his neck, waiting until he relaxed, moving into me, shivering slightly as my hands raised goosebumps on his skin.

"Listen-" My voice was a whisper. "Don't worry. We'll sort it out, whatever it is. We'll get it better. I'll be here." There was a short pause and then, "You're not letting anyone down, Merrill. That's not what you're doing."

He exhaled shakily and then pulled me closer. "I yelled at you this morning."

I laughed. "Merrill, that was hours ago."

"But-" Merrill stared at me, his eyes caught, conflict raging. "What if-what if there's something-"

I moved closer to him, my hands gripping his shirt. "Listen. Stop worrying." I could feel a smile playing at my own lips. "Isn't that what you always tell me?"

Merrill bit his lip. "What if there's something wrong with-"

"There's nothing wrong with you." I had my hands on his shoulders now. I could feel the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed. "Trust me. There's nothing wrong with you."

Merrill stared at me. "But I've never yelled at you like that before-"

I lifted my mouth to his, my hand sliding into his hair. "Merrill." I pulled away. "I know you. I love you. I know there's nothing wrong with you. I promise."

Merrill's eyes dropped, his gaze unconvinced. "I don't know, Izzy-"

"I know." I brushed my lips across his. "Merrill, listen to me. It's been a weird few days. We've all been freaked out. It's understandable you lost it for a minute."

"But what if-"

I placed my finger over his lips. "Merrill, stop worrying."

Merrill bit his lip and he tugged at his thumbnail anxiously. I gently tapped his hand. "Don't do that." My eyes met his. "I trust you" I said quietly. "I know you'd never do anything to hurt me. It's just a weird time."

Merrill was still chewing his lip but he nodded.

I tilted my mouth to his and after a moment, in which he stayed still, his hands splayed on my back, his mouth moved, kissing me back. I closed my eyes, listening to his breathing and the sound of the night around me. I listened for another howl from the coyote, but there was nothing.

When we broke apart, I stared at him, taking in his flushed cheeks, his pursed lips. "I love you." The words were quiet, but he repeated them back to me immediately. "Love you too."

I moved into his arms, draping myself across his chest. He whispered something into my hair, before kissing my neck. I closed my eyes.

"We'll be OK." My voice was a whisper. "We'll be fine."

Merrill nodded, his hands playing with my hair. My hand slid into his, my fingers skating across his skin.

* * *

Walking into the building a few minutes later, I couldn't help but notice that Merrill angled his body in front of mine the entire way, keeping his arm around my shoulders. I expected him to ask me to run in a zigzag pattern.

"Merrill, it's OK. I'm not about to be shot."

Our landlady, standing on the stairs, clapped her hands to her mouth. "Who's been shot?"

Merrill rolled his eyes. "No-one, Mrs. Longdon."

She shot me a look. I sighed. I'd never known as big a worrier. She spent as much time worrying as Carl in the bookstore did on conspiracy theories. I sometimes wondered if anyone in Bucks County, Pennsylvania, didn't have a dark, tortured secret.

She stared at me. "How's Ray Reddy?"

Another thing about Bucks County-everyone knew everyone else's business.

I shrugged. "Graham said he wasn't allowed in to visit" I said, after exchanging a glance with Merrill. "So, we just have to wait."

"He's in intensive care, though." This, from Merrill, just served to make Mrs. Longdon clap her hand to her mouth. Nice going.

After bidding her goodnight, we headed up the stairs.

"Great" Merrill muttered, as he fidgeted with the key. "She'll be ducking every time she goes outside for days now."

I rolled my eyes. The door swung inwards, but Merrill stood still, leaning against the frame, his arm against the wood.

"Izzy-" His voice trailed off, as his finger nudged under my chin. "I-" He swallowed, his teeth digging into his lip. "I just can't stand the thought of someone hurting you."

The whisper was quick, rushed, and my hand covered his. "It's OK." My voice was a whisper. "No-one's going to. It's OK."

Merrill bit his lip. "I just-" He sighed, his head dropping forward for a moment, before his eyes met mine again. "I wouldn't let anyone hurt you, OK? I swear, I-"

"It's OK." My hands stroked his arms. "Merrill, come here." I waited until he moved forward, letting me lean against him, before I whispered to him. "Merrill, no-one's going to hurt me."

Merrill bit his lip. "I know, I just-" He pulled me closer, my head nestling over his heart. "I'd kill anyone who hurt you, Izzy."

My eyes opened wide against his chest. "Well, hopefully, that won't be necessary."

Merrill nodded, his lips against my forehead. "I know. I just-" His eyes met mine, and I stared back at him. "I will never let anyone hurt you. I promise."

"I trust you." I ran my finger over his lips, before reaching out, clicking the door shut behind us. I turned the key in the lock, shutting the rest of the world out for a while.

Merrill was watching me. "I mean it" he whispered, pulling me towards him again. "I really would kill anyone who hurt you, Izzy."

My eyes met his. "Well, hopefully, you won't have to. It would be really difficult having a boyfriend up on a murder charge."

Merrill stared at me for a second, before he laughed, his voice slightly lighter now. I tilted my head, letting my lips touch his for a moment. It was him who clung on, kissing me harder, his hands in my hair.

I laughed, breaking away from him. "Feeling better?"

Merrill pulled me against his chest, my hands dancing under his shirt. "It depends-" His voice was low in my ear as his mouth moved along my neck. "Maybe we'll have to do that again."

I raised an eyebrow. "Maybe we will." I pulled him closer, sliding his shirt higher, shivers of pleasure breaking over my skin.

* * *

_It's dark and for a moment, the light is blinding, but I still see him, as he sprints ahead of me._

_"Morgan!"_

_My voice is a shout but he's already round the corner. I see a dark figure step into the corridor and I move towards it, even though my whole body's telling me to stay back, stay away, that it means danger..._

_There's a crashing sound and my mouth moves. "Morgan!"_

_The air is ripped apart by a long, high-pitched scream._

My eyes flew open. My cheek was pressed into the pillow, and the sheets were twisted around me. They were damp with sweat, and felt ice-cold against my body.

Merrill's arms were already around my shoulders. "What was it?" His eyes were frantic, his hands sliding against my skin.

I shook my head. "Same as always" I whispered. "But this time, it was Morgan. He was running. There was a-" I trailed off.

Merrill shook his head. "What?"

I bit my lip. "I don't know. I couldn't see it properly. I just know it was-" I shook my head again. "Tall. Dark."

Merrill was staring at me. "Are you OK?"

I nodded.

"You were screaming and thrashing about." Merrill's arms were still warm around me as he pressed his lips to my cheek. "I had to keep hugging you just to wake you up."

I stared at him. "Sorry-"

Merrill shook his head. "Don't be sorry." He pulled me closer, letting my head rest on his shoulder.

I closed my eyes, my heartbeat slowing. "It was just-scary." Abruptly, I slid out of bed, heading for the bathroom that adjoined our bedroom.

Once the door was closed, I stared into the mirror. I looked the same as I always did. Long hair falling about my face, eyes that stared into the distance. So, why was this happening? What was going on?

I shivered and turned away. Whatever it was, I couldn't keep ignoring it by staring into a bathroom mirror. I had to find out what it was. But I couldn't get rid of the feeling that there was a reason for it, the same reason there was for Ray Reddy's coma, for Bo's night-time expeditions and the headless birds. There was something strange going on.

Well done, Captain Obvious.

I closed my eyes for a moment, pushing my hair back off my face. I wondered if there was going to be any end to this, at all.

Several minutes later, I switched out the bathroom light, the towel I'd just used to dry my hands falling to the floor behind me. I couldn't be bothered to pick it up-I suddenly felt heavy all over, as if the nightmare had drained something out of me.

I crawled into bed beside Merrill, and felt his arms wrap around my shoulders. "Try to get some sleep" he whispered, and I felt my eyes close, as I huddled into him, relaxing at the sensation of him so close.

The last thing I felt before I drifted into sleep was Merrill's arms around me. But my brain prickled with a vague picture of something-some figure, some figure, tall and watching-before I sank into unconsciousness.

* * *

"And you're _sure _there's nothing you can think of that might have precipitated this?" Caroline stared at us over her notepad, with an expression of mixed concern and exasperation.

It was an eerie case of deja-vu -we were sitting around Graham's kitchen table again, exactly as we had been over a year earlier. Morgan was sitting still, with Bo's legs dangling to the right of him. I was leaning against Merrill, with Graham sitting in the centre of it all, like a king of a lot of dysfunction.

Graham shook his head, with a quick glance at the rest of us. Everyone followed suit, exchanging confused looks. We'd been at church that morning, and I hadn't seen any significant stares or looks or anything to indicate that someone had a bone to pick with us. Or a bird's head to decapitate.

Caroline sighed, staring at Bo. "And you're sure you can't remember being outside, sweetie?"

Bo nodded slowly, her eyes fixed on the police woman. Slowly, she reached out, picking her glass up slowly, deliberately, before taking a sip.

Her face creased, as if someone had just poured acid down her throat. "It tastes old."

Graham stared at her. "Come on, Bo. You haven't done that in _months."_

But Bo shook her head, and pushed the glass away. Morgan rolled his eyes, getting up to pour her another one. As he did so, I noticed that his sleeves were yanked down to his wrists, completely covering his skin. I frowned.

Merrill and I exchanged glances. "Can't think of anything." I watched him, trailing my hand over his arm. He pressed a quick kiss to the top of my head.

Caroline sighed. "Well, we've had a few reports of stuff like this in the last few weeks."

"All birds?" Graham asked, his forehead creasing momentarily. "With their heads off?"

Caroline hesitated, then nodded. "And only in the last couple of weeks." She sighed, gathering up her walkie-talkie. "But we'll be keeping an eye on things. We have to, especially after last year-"

The sentence hung in the air. Everyone avoided one another's eyes. For a moment, it looked like a game of Statues, as everybody seemed to freeze where they sat.

Caroline straightened up. "Well, if anything else happens, give me a call. And rest assured, we are dealing with this." She sighed. "We'll be looking around, figuring out who could be responsible."

Merrill stiffened next to me and I knew who he had in mind. I glanced up at Caroline.

Caroline met my gaze and sighed. "I know what you guys are thinking" she said quietly. "But I don't know if I'd go by the thought that it was Lionel Pritchard. This-" She shook her head. "This doesn't seem his style. Not at all."

I raised an eyebrow and she shook her head again. "You know what I mean. This-decapitating animals-it seems-cruel. More than cruel."

"Maybe that is his style." The words slipped out without thought and I winced as I thought back to the days of school. _Hey, Chipmunk._ A bruise on my arm, from being shoved into a locker. Yes, I knew firsthand that, when it suited him, cruelty could very well be Lionel Pritchard's style.

Though, I guessed that having a name yelled at you in school and being shoved into a locker once or twice, could hardly compare to having your neck broken and your head torn off. I was pretty sure the birds were suffering more than I ever had.

Caroline sighed. "Well, we'll check him out, but I don't think so. It doesn't sound like him, anyway."

"What about the Wolfington-"

"They've been out of town for the past two weeks." Caroline's words threw cold water over any further suspicions. I hadn't really gotten my hopes up anyway. How could these pranks have been responsible for my nightmares or Bo standing outside in the garden? How could they be responsible for Ray Reddy's coma or the strange tension that seemed to have lingered in the air for the last few weeks-even before the birds had started popping up?

Merrill sighed. "Dead end" he said, so quietly that I wondered if he'd really said it.

Caroline, however, nodded. "Yes" she said quietly. "It would seem so."

* * *

"We'll be starting regular patrols if this goes on" Caroline assured us, as she walked to the door. "And we'll be making sure that whoever's behind this is caught."

"If it's a person behind this..."I muttered.

Merrill's arm slid around me and Caroline avoided everybody's eyes. I couldn't blame her. What did I expect her to say? "Oh, yeah, I'll issue an arrest warrant for extraterrestrials, too?"

Caroline sighed. "I heard about Ray Reddy" she said quietly, and I swallowed. "You going to see him?" she asked Graham, her voice lower now.

Graham shrugged. "If they let me."

I wondered how a man lying in a coma could suffer from someone being brought in to talk to him. It wasn't exactly as though Ray could get any more rest than he was already getting.

I winced. Maybe it was too soon to think that.

Caroline pulled at her ponytail-an uncharacteristic gesture of nervousness for her. "Well, I guess people will be praying for him" she said, shooting an uncertain look at Graham.

I shrugged. My eyes drifted to Morgan, who was holding his inhaler as if it might be taken away from him at any moment, and Bo, who was staring off into the middle distance, lost in her own thoughts. I wondered just how much more bad news we could all stand.

* * *

The next few days were strange, to say the least.

Morgan and Bo were quieter than usual. At Graham's, I noticed the baby monitor lying around on the table again, and wondered if the old precautions were making a reappearance. If Morgan dragged that baby monitor to school-especially in front of Devon Pritchard-he'd end up with his head jammed down a toilet.

But Morgan was quieter and quieter about school, and I often spotted him with his head down, apparently lost in his own thoughts. Bo, too, seemed to be more withdrawn-though she at least, seemed calmer for the last few days-if calmer meant "less likely to wander outside at three o'clock in the morning."

Meanwhile, with graduate school work, I had less time to obsess over strange bird decapitations, and more time to spend with my nose in books about psychological conditions. Psychology was something that could soak me up-that I could lose myself in with notes and studies, something that could make the noise of the outside world shut up, if only for a little while.

As did stepping over the cracks in sidewalks, and lining things up straight. And counting. That had made a return and no, it was not a happy reunion. I wasn't surprised, though-the habits always made a reappearance at times of stress. Merrill watched these progressions with remarkable tact, and remained silent whenever I reached forward to straighten a line of plates, or fidget with cutlery, choosing instead to wrap his arms around my shoulders, or run his fingers through my hair, often whispering to me, distracting me from whatever ritual I was currently intent on completing, until I had forgotten the worry entirely.

But then again, as I resorted to organizing the world around me to combat my own anxieties, Merrill's method of coping was something similar-except rather than attempt to make the whole world safe, he concentrated on protecting me. He'd always been there for me, and whenever any type of worry spiralled out of control, he'd always been the first one holding me, calming me down. But now, he seemed to make it his personal mission to ensure I remained alive-when he drove me to and from graduate school these days, he insisted on walking me to the door, rather than just dropping me off outside, and whenever I picked him up from the gas station, his arm would be around my shoulders before I could blink, as if he could protect me from any possible danger the world could offer.

The one danger it was currently most likely to offer hovered, precariously unspoken, between us.

"You're so lucky" my friend Hannah muttered one morning, as I pored over an essay. "Your boyfriend actually walks you to the door each day. Who said chivalry is dead?"

I grinned, remembering how I'd made that same comment to Merrill that morning. "Chivalrous of you" I'd said, nodding at the umbrella he'd held over my head-the sunshine of the previous week had disappeared into a constant rainfall that had dangled over the county for the previous few days. "You're like my knight in a shining jacket."

Merrill had raised an eyebrow. "You could never be a damsel in distress. You'd insist on saving yourself."

"You know me well." I stepped forward, yanking him down by his jacket to kiss him. He returned the kiss fiercely, his hands sliding into my hair, pressing me back against the wall. Around us, the rain poured down, but I was only aware of the warmth of his lips on mine, the centre point of the storm and I clung on to him, drinking him in, savouring every second of kissing him I could get. It had been several minutes before I'd been able to persuade myself to break away.

"Yeah, well." I slumped back in my chair, surveying my notebooks. "It's just with the weird stuff that's been going on at the minute."

Hannah nodded, yanking at her hair. The auburn tips brushed her notebook pages. "I heard about Ray Reddy." She bit her lip. "Are you guys OK?"

I nodded. I'd first met Hannah when she was five, when Lionel Pritchard had tried yanking her ponytail, and she'd slammed her foot on top of his, earning my undying respect. She'd then moved away less than two months later, and had only returned to Bucks County two years ago, following her father's death. When we'd ended up in the same college courses-and now, at the same graduate school-we'd ended up hanging out pretty much constantly. Hannah never pushed me for anything, which was one of the reasons it worked between us.

I sighed. "Yeah, we're all right, apart from Merrill worrying I'll have a breakdown every five minutes." I sighed. "And Bo's been acting pretty weird." I bit my lip, unsure how much I should divulge.

Hannah shrugged. "Maybe she's just reacting to the weird stuff going on in general."

I was pretty sure that couldn't explain teleportation, but I sensed it wouldn't be wise to make that point.

So, instead, I shrugged. "Maybe."

Hannah sighed, slumping against me. "I'm so exhausted" she muttered, tugging at her hair. I rolled my eyes. "Darren keeping you up late again?"

Hannah elbowed me in the chest. Darren-her on-off boyfriend I was only privy to occasionally-seemed to drift in and out of her life when it suited him, but then Hannah didn't seem to care. As she explained to me, she didn't "do" serious relationships, not until she'd finished school.

"It would just distract me" she'd explained, through a mouthful of popcorn. "And until then, if I hook up with a few people, who cares?" And if that was her philosophy, who was I to say it was wrong? Besides, it wasn't as though Hannah would ever let any guy take advantage. I'd seen her on nights out, when anyone got too close-her foot had an unerring knack of finding the most sensitive place on the guy's body to kick. I'd pity the fool who tried to take her on.

"Won't be seeing him for a couple of months." She sighed, sliding her hair between her fingers, chewing a strand absent-mindedly. "He's away, working. You know, with his journalism thing."

I nodded. "Missing him?"

Hannah shrugged. "Like I said, it's not serious. Besides, there's too much weird stuff going on here."

She was right about that. I sighed. "What's Carl's theory?"

A grin flickered briefly across Hannah's face. As well as being as book-obsessed as I was, she was also Carl's niece, which gave us both the advantage of entering a bookshop any time we wanted. "He thinks that it's either "the government trying to incite mass panic-"" I smirked at her spot-on imitation of his drawl. "Or that-" Her fingers formed quotation marks. "_They're back."_

I laughed, but a shiver ran down my spine. That was a possibility I hadn't wanted to entertain.

But Hannah didn't miss a thing-it was one of the qualities I liked best about her. "What?" She stared at me, her eyes suddenly wide, the mascara flaking under her eyelashes.

I shrugged. "Nothing, just-remembering."

Hannah winced. She and her family had been lucky, along with ours'-like us, they ended up taking refuge in their basement-but like us, the memories hadn't yet faded. "Ah. Sorry."

"Not your fault." I cast a quick glance about the library, before leaning forward and lowering my voice. "Do you think that's what it could be?"

Hannah bit her lip and I could tell from her expression she was giving the suggestion more serious thought than she'd like to. "I don't know." Her voice was low and she didn't meet my gaze, her eyes skimming over her notes, instead. "I hope not."

I bit my lip, wishing she could offer me a more definite reassurance. But that wasn't like Hannah-she didn't do bullshit, and she didn't do sugar-coating. And in this case, neither of those would help much, anyway.

But it still made me shiver.

"Anyway-" Hannah's voice was brighter now, and I turned towards her, dragging my mind away from extraterrestrials. "How are you and Merrill?"

Her eyes met mine and she smirked. I rolled my own. "We're great."

Hannah bit her lip, turning red with suppressed laughter. "When's the wedding?"

I rolled my eyes again. "Hannah-" I tried to make my tone sound threatening but it was difficult when I was only holding a ballpoint pen.

"What?" She held up her hands, eyes wide and innocent. "I'm just asking!" But the glint of laughter in her eyes told me otherwise.

I raised an eyebrow and her words dissolved into sniggers. "OK, OK-" She held up her hands again, still laughing. "But you have to admit, it _is _kind of an obvious question."

"No, it isn't!"

It was Hannah's turn to raise her eyebrows. I sighed. "OK-"

Hannah grinned. "I mean, I'm not saying you will-and maybe not right now, anyway-but seriously, I mean-" Her grin increased, though her eyes softened. "You're really lucky, you know? To have someone like that?"

I nodded, feeling a smile dance across my own lips, in spite of myself. "I know." Because I did. I never stopped thinking about Merrill, or how lucky I was to have him at all. Even just little things-like walking me to the door-kept him in my head the whole day.

Hannah grinned. "See? Not every guy's thoughtful enough to walk you to the door." She shook her head. "Jeez, every time I see you guys together, you can't look at anything but each other.

I looked up, alarmed, but she shook her head. "I don't mean it badly. Just-it's sweet, you know? That you care about each other that much."

I nodded. "He's-" I couldn't find the words to explain how I felt about him. I couldn't. "He's just-" There was nothing I could find to explain how I felt when his arms were looped around my shoulders, or when I was curled up next to him, my fingers braided with his, his lips moving over mine. There was nothing I could say that would summarize how just being near him, made me feel like I was falling and safe all at once, that whenever his hand slid into mine, it felt like it was where I belonged.

"He's Merrill." My voice was faint now, even thinking about him. "He's Merrill. That's why I love him. I can't even explain it-"

Hannah shook her head slowly. "Oh God. You two have really got it bad. It's been over a year since you got together and you're still just-" She waved her hands, apparently unable to think of the words to explain it.

I shrugged and she burst out laughing. "Seriously, I have to be your bridesmaid."

I elbowed her, and she laughed harder. "It's so cute that you two first hooked up in the middle of an invasion. It's like a movie romance or something."

I raised an eyebrow. "Do you know a movie where the two main characters first hooked up in front of a TV in a cupboard?"

Hannah tilted her head to the side. "OK, no."

"And, we didn't-" I ducked my head forward. "We just-kissed a lot. We didn't-do anything else, _then."_

Hannah grinned wickedly, her head tilted to the side. "No, you just make up for that _now-"_

I held my finger up threateningly. "One more word-"

Hannah snorted with laughter. "OK, OK, but I tell you everything about Darren and me, I even told you about the time he got-"

I held my hand up. "Yes, and I did _not_ wish to know that." I knew immediately what she was referring to, and it was something that made me look at Darren in a whole new light, afterwards.

"I'm just saying." Hannah raised an eyebrow as she glanced at me. "You don't tell me too much about that-" She gestured with her hands. "Side of things."

I could feel the blood rising in my cheeks, as I examined my notes. "Well, it's just-it's different, it's more personal, it-" I trailed off, unsure how to explain it.

It was strange, how personal it seemed to me; more how _utterly_ personal it seemed to me. I wasn't naive and I wasn't an idiot-I'd had boyfriends before and I knew how everything worked. But with Merrill, it was different to anything I'd had before, and everything I had with him seemed too personal to share with anyone apart from him, even my best friend.

Hannah, mercifully, was nodding. "Yeah, I get it, I get it" she said, holding her hands up. "You don't want to kill me with the details."

I raised an eyebrow. "I'll make a note, next time I need some revenge."

Hannah shook her head. "Oh, God, anything but that."

I smirked, ducking my head forward, and biting my lip. But any thoughts about my notes were scattered, replaced instead by thoughts of Merrill, counting the hours before I'd see him again.

Dear God, I really _had _turned into one of those girls.

* * *

The conversation was still on my mind when I scrambled into Merrill's car, several hours later, as Hannah waved me goodbye from halfway down the street. She threw me a quick wink, indicating Merrill, and I rolled my eyes.

It still didn't stop me throwing my arms around his neck, and bringing my mouth to his. Merrill's hands slid into my hair, and his mouth was open against mine, each kiss hot and fierce. It took me several moments to work up any will to break away.

Merrill's voice was slightly uneven. "What was that for?"

I kissed him again, this time tracing the skin beneath his ears with my fingers, nibbling his bottom lip gently. He shuddered, and I smirked, shifting so that I was half in his lap, my hands threaded in his hair, my legs entwined with his.

"I missed you." My voice was a whisper and I felt myself shivering. I couldn't explain what was happening-all I knew was that I couldn't control it, couldn't have stopped myself kissing him if I wanted to, and I didn't want to.

Merrill's eyes were wide as I bent my head, brushing his mouth with mine. He kissed me back, his lips slowly widening into a grin against my mouth. My hair was wet but I didn't feel cold at all. Merrill's hands were sliding beneath my neck, over my skin and it was making me feel rapidly overheated.

Merrill leaned back from me, his voice uneven. "It's killing me to stop you right now, but if I don't, we're going to end up with an audience."

A soft sound came from my throat and I slumped against his shoulder. A distant part of me was surprised at myself. This-this had never-usually, I was able to control myself better than this, but it was almost as though I'd lost any rational thought. All I wanted to do was kiss him. Something about it sent a shiver down my spine, a vaguely ominous feeling in the back of my brain, but I was able to forget it quickly.

Merrill pressed his lips to my hair, and I lifted my eyes to his. "Take me home" I whispered.

I dragged his mouth back to mine and with a soft groan, he let go of the wheel, ducking his head to kiss me back, and for a moment, I lost myself in the frenzy of his mouth on mine, his hands in my hair.

This time, it was me who pulled away, however grudgingly. "Merrill-" I stared at him.

Merrill was already nodding, yanking himself back into the driver's seat. "Home" I whispered to him, my hand stroking his hair. "Let's go home."

Merrill nodded, his eyes wide. But he stared at me as he shoved the stick into gear and I knew that he was feeling exactly the same thing as I was.

And that neither of us had any idea why-but we weren't going to question it.

* * *

"Well-" Merrill's lips whispered over mine as he traced his fingers over my shoulder. "That was-"

His voice trailed off as I kissed him again, my lips pressed against his. His heart stuttered against mine, and I felt his breathing quicken as his hands tangled in my hair, still slightly wet from the rainstorm. I had a brief moment of concern that I might be dampening the pillow.

"Unexpected?" I whispered, as my lips moved to his shoulder. "Seriously, I don't-"

I lay back, goosebumps still raised on my skin. "I don't quite know what that even _was_, I just-" I turned to stare at him, only now beginning to marvel at just how strange it had been. Merrill's face twitched into his familiar grin.

"I'm not complaining."

I moved closer to him, his arms sliding around me. There was a weird exhaustion seeping through me now-I'd never felt this tired that I could remember. My eyes were closing even as I spoke, my head moving onto Merrill's shoulder. It wasn't the sort of drowsy contentment that I associated with this. It was a strange exhaustion, as if energy had been sapped from every part of me, my limbs almost too heavy to move. Merrill's eyelids were drooping and I knew he was feeling the same thing.

Merrill stared at me, his eyes heavy. "You've never been-you know-" His eyes flickered downwards. "Like _that_-I mean, that much-"

I laughed, pressing my lips to his collarbone. Merrill closed his eyes for a moment, pulling me closer. For a moment, I could pretend nothing was going wrong, that everything was normal. I nestled into his shoulder. "Tired."

Merrill nodded, and I felt his head slump forward, even as his arms slid around me, so that my head was nestled under his chin. I barely had time to wonder how strange this was, how weirdly exhausted I felt, when my own head slumped forwards, and the last thing I felt was Merrill's arms around me.

* * *

"How are those scars on your arm?" Merrill asked me, late on Sunday night, as I slumped against his shoulder.

"Why do you ask?" I stared at him, taking in the curve of his lips, the mark above his mouth. He frowned, his gaze riveted to the three long marks on my arm, scored into my skin as if with a knife.

"You keep staring at them." His voice was low and he traced them gently with his finger. "Are they hurting?"

I sighed. "Yeah, a bit. It's just-" I swallowed, and leaned against him. "It's stupid."

Merrill shook his head. "No, it's not. Tell me."

I sighed. The thought had been preying on my mind for the last few days. "I just-miss Colleen." I ducked my head forward, my hair falling over my face. "It sounds stupid."

Merrill shook his head. "That's not stupid."

I shrugged. "It's just that-with all the weird stuff going on-I kind of miss her."

Merrill pressed his lips to my hair. "That's normal. I mean, you must miss her-"

I nodded, wriggling closer to him. "Yeah. It just-I mean-"

The phone rang, cutting into the conversation. Merrill rolled his eyes, reaching for the receiver. "Bet you it's a wrong number."

"You're on." I crossed my fingers as Merrill picked up the phone. He was already rolling his eyes as Graham's voice sounded out of the receiver.

"Merrill? Isabelle?" Even with the receiver pressed to Merrill's ear, I could hear Graham's voice, echoing out of the phone.

"Graham?" Merrill stared at me, his voice low. "Graham, what's-"

"Merrill." Graham's voice cracked slightly. "I wouldn't usually ask but-could you and Isabelle get down here? Now?"

Merrill's eyes were wide. "Graham, what's-"

"I can't-" Graham's voice cracked and I heard Morgan saying something. "I can't explain-"

I swallowed. "Graham?" My own voice was high-pitched and I stared at Merrill, my heart suddenly frantic.

Graham swallowed hard. "Look, it's-it's Bo-could you just get down here, please-"

But his words were cut off and the receiver slipped from Merrill's hand, as we both stared at the phone. From the other end of the line, drowning out any of Graham's words, there was a shrill, high-pitched scream-a scream that I recognized.

"Bo" I breathed, staring at Merrill. I couldn't think, couldn't move.

Merrill stared back at me for a second, before snatching up the phone. "Graham?" His voice was short, clipped but the whiteness of his knuckles under his skin gave away his tension. "We'll be right there."

The last sound I heard before Merrill disconnected the call was another long, desperate scream.

"Oh my God" I breathed, already scrambling to my feet. "Oh my God, Merrill, what's happened to her-"

Merrill shook his head. "We'll find out." His hands fastened on my shoulders. "She's going to be OK." He nodded, as if convincing himself as much as me. "She's got to be OK."

I nodded, swallowing hard, wrapping my arms around himself. "Of course she will be." I tried again. "She has to be."

But we both knew that no matter what we told ourselves, or how much we tried to convince ourselves of the opposite view, Bo wasn't OK at all.

And not one of us knew how to help her.

**On that somewhat dark cliffhanger, Merry Christmas and Happy New Year (once again). Leave a review if you liked it. Next update-January 2nd.**


	4. When Normal Disappears

**And here's Chapter 4. Thank you to everyone who's reviewed so far-all three of you. Leave a review if you like this one. The next chapter should be up by the end of January.**

**Enjoy!**

Merrill had received more than a few frantic late-night phone calls from his brother in his lifetime, both with good news and bad news. He'd been woken up by the phone ringing the night Graham got engaged; he'd been woken up again to be told he had a nephew and a niece. And of course, over eighteen months ago now, he'd received a call from his brother, with a voice that was dangerously flat, to say that Colleen had been in some kind of car accident.

But he'd never had a call like this, and he'd never driven so fast in his life. He glanced at Isabelle, next to him. She was staring at her cell phone, which she was clutching as though someone might snatch it away. He watched her lips move and knew she was counting things silently. He watched her for a moment, and wished there was something he could say to comfort her, but knew that there was nothing he could think of, not when his own mind was going insane with thoughts of what could be happening at the Hess farm.

The corn crops were swaying ominously, even though the night was still, as the car pulled up outside the farm. Isabelle was half out the door before Merrill could even cut the engine, and he had to swing himself out to keep up with her.

Isabelle was already ringing the doorbell, leaning her whole weight against it. Merrill strained his ears, but there was no screaming emanating from the depths of the building. In fact, the whole house seemed eerily silent, though the windows were blazing with light. Isabelle shot Merrill an anxious glance and leaned on the doorbell again, until the whole house rang with the sound.

The door was yanked open by Morgan, his eyes wide, and Merrill's eyes flickered to his nephew's hands-Morgan was clutching his inhaler with a death grip. "Morgan." Merrill's hands found his nephew's shoulders. "Morgan. What's happened?"

Morgan was gasping for breath and Isabelle' hand began rubbing circles on his back. "Easy, Morgan, easy-"

Morgan nodded, still gasping. "It's-Bo-upstairs-"

Merrill started towards the stairs, with Isabelle and Morgan following behind. He could hear his brother's voice from the hallway and halfway up the steps, he broke into a run.

* * *

Morgan had never been quite so glad to see his uncle and aunt, as he was right now. Something about them being here felt right, felt better, even as he knew they probably didn't have any more idea how to help his sister than he did. But Isabelle knew about psychology-maybe she'd have some idea, some way to snap his little sister out of it...

He followed his uncle up the stairs, until they reached his sister's bedroom. His father was kneeling on the carpet, leaning close to his daughter. Bo stood still, staring straight ahead, eyes glassy.

"Bo?" His father's voice was tight and he rubbed his hand over his face, as if clearing his brain. "Bo, sweetheart, say something-"

Morgan heard Isabelle gasp as she entered the room. She stared around, her eyes taking in the mess of glass that covered the floor.

Merrill exhaled, his hand on Isabelle's arm. "Jesus."

Six water glasses lay shattered on the floor, their shards scattered across the carpet. Water pooled out of them, sinking into the floor below, along with Bo's duvet, which had been yanked from her bed, and several drawings which had been ripped down from her door.

But far more worrying than that, was the blood running from Bo's foot, mixing with the water, spreading over the floor like a grotesque flood, along with her strange, dead-eyed stare. It looked as though everything that made Bo herself had been drained out of her, leaving an empty shell behind.

"What happened?" Isabelle, whose voice Morgan would have expected to be high or panicked, was instead deadly calm as she crouched down beside her niece, her hand on the little girl's arm.

Graham didn't take his eyes from his daughter's face. "She started screaming" he said, his voice a little above a whisper. "She's never screamed in her life before. I came upstairs, and her room was like this. She just kept smashing the glasses. She didn't-" He broke off, staring at his daughter, and Morgan was horrified to see his father's eyes were glistening with tears.

"She doesn't look like Bo." Graham's voice caught in his throat. "She doesn't look like herself. And then she just stood there. That's how she's been ever since."

Isabelle didn't move. "Bo?" Her voice was low. "Bo, can you hear me?"

Morgan held his breath. There was silence. Bo's eyes were fixed on some point in the distance, a more frightening version of the way she'd looked when she'd first come across the dead birds, a week earlier.

Merrill placed his hand on Morgan's shoulder. "Are you OK?" His uncle's voice was quiet, and Morgan nodded, more for the sake of keeping the peace than anything else. Such peace as there was.

He couldn't take his eyes off his sister. Usually, she was asking him questions constantly, tugging at his hand, wanting to play a game with him. And he was the one telling her he didn't have time right now, that he wanted to be alone, that he was too old to be playing with his kid sister. And now-now he'd play games forever, listen to her conversations for the rest of his life, just to hear her voice again. Just to know she was OK.

But she didn't say anything.

Isabelle stared at her. "Bo?" When there was no answer, she laid her hand on her niece's shoulder gently. "Bo?"

Bo's head turned slowly to look at her. There was no expression on her face. Isabelle leaned closer, cautiously. "Bo?"

Bo's mouth opened, and Morgan clapped his hands to his ears just in time.

The sound that emerged from Bo's mouth was spine-tingling, raising the hairs on the back of Morgan's neck. It was the most blood-curdling scream that Morgan had ever heard, and it went on and on, the high notes ringing off the walls of the bedroom, echoing throughout the house, far louder than Bo had ever screamed in her life. It didn't stop and Morgan tightened his hold on his ears, squeezing his eyes shut. The sound made him feel as if he was being twisted from the inside out, twisted and squeezed and crushed, and he felt the same way he had the night his mother had died, when he'd wanted to die to stop the pain in his chest.

Isabelle too had her hands clapped over her ears, and was staring at her niece with her eyes stretched wide. Merrill's mouth had fallen open and Graham was staring at his daughter, while his hands hovered over Bo's shoulders, as though longing to take away whatever hurt her this much.

Bo's scream went on and on and on, until finally, her voice went hoarse, and her head fell back, her hair sticking to her forehead, damp with sweat. A strange sound came from low in her throat and her head fell forward, her hair sticking to her face, her arms limp at her sides.

Isabelle's voice was tremulous. "Graham. Graham, I think we need to take her to a hospital-Jesus, Graham-"

At that, Bo's head suddenly lifted. But her eyes were wide and tear-filled-not the strange, dead glance she had worn up until that moment. "D-Daddy?" Her voice shook, as she looked around anxiously for her father.

Graham blinked. "I'm here, sweetheart-"

Bo glanced around. "Daddy, why's my room all messy?"

Morgan glanced straight at his father, and their gazes met. The eye contact lasted less than a second but it was enough to confirm Morgan's belief that his father was now as worried as he was.

Graham stared at her. "You-do you not remember anything, honey?"

Bo shook her head, as her face crumpled. "Daddy, I'm wet-"

"That's the water, honey-"

"No, I-"

But Bo was pointing at her dress, which was soaked and Morgan realised she'd wet herself-though Bo had been toilet-trained since the age of three.

"Dad-" he said quietly, indicating Bo's dress. "Look-"

But Graham was already looking. "God." The word was a breath and he looked up at his daughter's face. Bo was now crying in earnest.

"I'm sorry, Daddy-"

"No, sweetheart, no-" Graham moved towards her and Bo let out a gasp of pain. Graham's gaze drifted to her foot, and Isabelle let out a low moan at the sight of the cut in her niece's skin.

"We need to get that checked out." Graham held out his hands to his daughter. "It's all right, sweetheart. You're safe now. It's OK. You're with us."

Isabelle dared to touch her niece's shoulder and her voice was low. "It's OK. It's OK. You're with us. It's all right, sweetheart, it's OK-"

Graham's arms slid around Bo's waist as he lifted her. "Let's get you cleaned up, sweetheart-" He began to carry her to the bathroom, Isabelle following. "Graham, she might need-" She glanced at Bo urgently. "The cut on her foot-a doctor might need to look at that."

Graham chewed his lip-something Morgan hadn't seen his dad do in over a year. "Let's look at it. See if there's any glass in it. If there is-"

He left the rest of the sentence unspoken, but Morgan clenched his fists as Graham carried his sister towards the bathroom. Isabelle glanced over her shoulder nervously, before following them.

Merrill pushed his hand through his hair, before letting out a shaky breath. "God-"

Morgan stared at his uncle. "I know."

Merrill was already pulling at the duvet. "I guess we should try to get some of this cleared up-" He held his hand out warningly to his nephew. "Don't try to touch the glass-"

Morgan stared at his uncle as he crossed to the doorway. "What do you think's wrong with her?"

Merrill stopped dead with his back to Morgan. He had no idea what expression was on his uncle's face.

Merrill turned back to look at him slowly, and his eyes were more serious than Morgan had ever seen them.

Or at least, since those nights over a year ago. Those nights, that Morgan had tried his best to push out of his memory.

"I don't know, Morgan." Merrill pushed his hands through his hair and Morgan wondered if his uncle had ever hated admitting anything more.

* * *

The room was dark, shadows creeping in from the corners, the only light from the nightlight nestled in the corner. Graham sat in a chair, watching his daughter, who lay slumped in the bed, her hair blanketing the pillow beneath her.

Bo was lost in slumber now, her head pillowed on her cheek as usual, curled into a ball beneath the blankets. She was facing the wall, dressed in a clean nightgown, tucked under Graham's blanket, in his bed. He sat at the side, watching her sleep.

When Bo had been a baby, Graham had always joked that he and Colleen would have worried that she was mute, had it not been for her occasional laughter. She cried so little, and was so peaceful, that he'd considered himself lucky. Morgan had been a colicky baby, with frequent fits of crying that lasted, at times, for hours, and Graham had just thought himself and Colleen lucky that Bo appeared quieter.

And as she'd grown older, she'd never thrown tantrums. Oh, she might have the occasional strop, the occasional pushed-out lip, but she'd never screamed, never thrown herself to the floor and howled, like most toddlers. Never done anything like she had, tonight.

Even thinking back to those moments, a few hours ago, sent a shiver down his spine.

There was a movement in the doorway and Graham turned to see his younger brother. Merrill's eyes flickered towards the bed and then back to Graham, his bottom lip caught between his teeth.

"How long's she been like that?" His voice was a whisper.

Graham sighed. "A while. She nodded off a few hours ago. But she's been peaceful."

Merrill nodded, still pulling at his lip with his teeth. Graham had seen that expression on his brother's face before. He'd seen it when Merrill was eight, and their parents had been screaming at each other through the wall, and Merrill had huddled into Graham's bed with him, his hands pressed over his ears. He'd seen it when his little brother had been slumped outside the principal's office, waiting for Graham to take him home, after being dragged into another fight. He'd seen it when Merrill had been leaning back against Graham's feet staring at the wall, after his first serious girlfriend had broken up with him.

Graham knew this look, and he sighed, getting up to place his hand on his brother's shoulder. "How's Isabelle?"

Isabelle had remained in the room with Bo while she went to sleep, her eyes narrowed as she stared at her niece, watching her intently. But Graham had insisted she go downstairs once Bo was asleep, telling her she'd already done more than enough and she needed to get some rest. At one in the morning, two and a half hours before, Isabelle had finally obliged, and Graham hadn't seen her since.

Merrill shook his head. "She was on the couch when I came up here. Morgan's asleep."

Graham nodded. "Good."

Merrill bit his lip. "What happened to her, Graham?"

Graham didn't pretend not to know what his brother was talking about. "I don't know." He passed a hand over his face, wondering if it was possible to be more worried about his daughter than he already was. "Isabelle thinks she needs to talk to someone."

Merrill, to his surprise, nodded. "Maybe."

Graham sighed. "Maybe I need to talk to a psychologist. Find out why she might be doing this."

Merrill chewed at his lip. "Something's wrong." He ducked his head forward, and Graham could see the tension in his younger brother's shoulders. "Something's wrong with this, Graham."

Graham couldn't do anything but nod.

Merrill hadn't wanted him to leave Bo, but Graham had insisted on walking his brother downstairs-Bo was lost in her dreams. Merrill was still glancing anxiously over his shoulder when they paused in the family room doorway.

"Oh-" Merrill stopped dead as his eyes landed on Isabelle, who lay curled up on the couch. She was clutching a cushion like a comfort blanket, her eyes closed. She had obviously fallen asleep there, and Graham smiled, remembering how when Isabelle was a little girl, she had often nodded off on Colleen's lap, her head on her big sister's shoulder.

Merrill stepped forward, sinking to his knees beside his girlfriend. "Izzy?" He touched her shoulder tentatively. "Izzy?" He stared up at Graham. "I don't want to wake her."

Graham had seen his brother go through a lot of girlfriends-a couple had been more serious than others. But most had been girls who'd been with him for a couple of weeks, maybe a few months at most. Nothing too dramatic had happened-just things seemed to fizzle out with Merrill, and he never seemed to miss them, not badly. The couple of times Graham had seen his brother really upset over any relationship, it had only taken a few weeks before he'd been over it, and Graham had wondered several times if his little brother simply wasn't the type to settle down, simply wasn't the type to fall in love.

But Graham could safely say he'd never seen his younger brother look at anyone the way he looked at Isabelle. He'd never heard the same tenderness in his brother's voice with anyone else, never seen him stare at anyone as though they were the only person in the world.

He remembered the whispered conversation he and Merrill had had that night, over a year ago now, with Isabelle slumped asleep between them. Though, near the end, Graham had had slight doubts about how genuine his sister-in-law's sleep was-there'd been a flicker of her eyelids, a slight tension in her shoulders that made him think she may be hearing more than he'd previously thought. But he'd watched his younger brother's arm fall around Isabelle's shoulders, and he'd watched the look in his eyes as he stared at her, and he'd known, perhaps even before his brother, that this was different to anything else Merrill had ever experienced with anyone.

Merrill stared at her. "I don't want her to wake up" he said again, his hand lingering on his girlfriend's hair.

Graham watched his brother for a long moment, before saying "You can sleep here. If you carry her upstairs-"

He watched as Merrill carefully slid Isabelle into his arms. He barely flinched at the weight as he stood up, Isabelle's head nestled beneath his shoulder. She murmured something into his shirt, and Merrill whispered back to her. "It's OK...it's OK..."

Graham watched as Merrill carried her up the stairs, his hold as tender as if he was carrying a baby. Isabelle's eyes didn't flicker once, her arm looped loosely around Merrill's neck, as he carried her.

In the guest room, Merrill lowered her gently to the bed, removing her shoes quietly, and stroking the hair off her face, before gently pulling the blanket over her.

Isabelle shifted, murmuring something, and Merrill's hand moved to her hair, his lips at her ear. "Shh, sweetheart-" His arm slid around her, holding her to him, and Isabelle stilled immediately, her face relaxing as she slid back into sleep. Graham watched as Merrill stared at her for a long moment, before slowly pressing his lips to her forehead in a gentle kiss.

Graham stood in the doorway, watching the way Merrill's eyelids drooped as he stretched out next to Isabelle, his head sinking onto the pillow. "Get some sleep, Merrill." His voice was soft.

Merrill nodded. "I'm not tired." His voice held no conviction and Graham raised an eyebrow. "Try, anyway."

He turned to his own bedroom, and waited for a few moments before turning back to face the doorway.

He smiled wryly. Merrill was already asleep, his head pillowed on his arm, his eyes shut, his arm draped across Isabelle's shoulders. The two of them looked for a moment like sleeping children, their heads drooped, their chests rising and falling slowly. Graham pulled the door closed softly, eager not to wake them, before he turned away.

Back in his own bedroom, he sank down on the bed beside his daughter, examining her with his eyes as she slept. He bit his lip, a trait he unconsciously shared with his younger brother.

"What's happening to you?" The words were a whisper and it took Graham a moment to realise he'd spoken aloud.

Bo didn't stir, her head slumped on her shoulder. Graham sighed and leaned his head on the pillow next to his daughter, positioning himself to be aware of any night-time wanderings. He closed his eyes, his hand touching his daughter's, waiting to see what the morning would bring.

* * *

Isabelle wasn't aware of being awake for several moments. Her eyes remained shut and she let herself drift , relaxing in the familiar feel of Merrill's arm draped over her, the feeling of his pulse, echoing faintly in her ears. She shifted, her ear against his chest, her arms slipping under his.

It was only then that her eyes flickered open, and she glanced around the room, puzzled. She glanced down at herself, blinking at her clothes, before her eyes landed on Merrill next to her.

Merrill's eyes were closed, his hand ghosting her hip, his body heavy with sleep. Isabelle watched as he murmured something before slipping back into his dreams. She smiled-it was rare that Merrill let anyone but her see this side of himself. He looked more vulnerable-almost like a child, asleep, not that she'd ever tell him.

She pressed her lips to his forehead gently before moving further into his arms, where she watched the shadows creep across the ceiling, her mind teeming with images of the night before, of Bo's eyes, lost in space.

She'd never seen her niece look like that before, and it still made her shiver to think about it. She curled closer to Merrill, hoping the little girl had gotten a good night's sleep, had been able to rest-though somehow she doubted a good night's sleep would be the only thing to put Bo to rights.

She bit her lip, knowing the only thing to do would be what she had suggested to Graham last night-take Bo to a psychologist, and have her assessed. What for, Isabelle had no idea-her psychology courses weren't _that_ advanced. She wrapped her arms around Merrill's neck, trying to keep as still as possible. She wondered if it was possible to burst a vein worrying about someone.

She watched Merrill's face idly, as he slept, wondering what he was dreaming. She nestled her head under his chin, and closed her eyes, drifting back into sleep, though with a pucker in her forehead that, had anyone been awake to see, would have betrayed her anxieties all too clearly.

* * *

"You OK?" was the first question out of Merrill's mouth when he opened his eyes the next morning. Isabelle was leaning against him, one hand in his hair, and her eyes fixed on him, as if he might evaporate if she didn't watch him hard enough.

She nodded, slowly. "What time did I crash out?"

Merrill shrugged. "You were asleep when I came down from seeing Graham. Carried you up here."

She blinked, her hand now stroking his cheek. "You crashed out, too?"

Merrill nodded, brushing his lips across her hair. "Is Bo OK?" Her voice was a whisper as his mouth moved to hers'.

"She's asleep. Graham stayed up with her. She's in his room." He kissed her again, reassuring himself of her presence, running his hands through her hair.

Isabelle sighed. "You think she needs to talk to someone?" The question hovered in the air between them.

Merrill shrugged, his shoulders rising and dropping quickly. "Maybe. I think Graham said he was keeping her off school today."

Isabelle nodded. "Probably for the best."

Merrill took her in, his eyes raking over the shadows at the tops of her cheeks, the way she blinked bemusedly. "You should take the day off."

Isabelle shook her head, but any attempt at protest was cut off by a yawn. "I've got to work-"

Merrill sighed, his arms sliding around her shoulders. "No, you haven't. You wouldn't focus, anyway. It's up to you."

"Oh, thanks, Merrill."

Merrill blinked. "What?"

Isabelle stared at him. "It's up to you, Isabelle." Gee, thanks for the permission."

"God, I was just-"

"Yeah, well, you know what, you didn't need to."

"What does that even mean?" Merrill stared at her. "Seriously. What does that even mean?"

Isabelle rolled her eyes. "The way you said it. Like you know, you were doing me a favour."

Merrill stared at her. "Jesus Christ. It was just a suggestion." His own voice was sharp and there was a moment of hot anger as the two of them glared at each other. In the midst of it all, he had the odd thought that even glaring at him like this, her jaw set, Izzy was still utterly beautiful and at the same time as wanting to yell, he had to fight the impulse to yank her to him and kiss her.

After a moment, Isabelle's shoulders went limp, as if a sudden exhaustion had slammed into her. "I'm sorry. God, I'm sorry, Merrill-" She was staring up at him as if she'd slapped him, her eyes soft, touching his hands just as tenderly. "Merrill, I'm sorry, I'm so, so sorry-" She stared at him. "I don't even know why I'm yelling at you-"

Merrill nodded slowly, but he slid his hands out from under her touch. "Fine." For some reason, the word bit in his throat and he couldn't bring himself to look at her. He slid his arm out from under her shoulders.

Isabelle's expression clouded over. "Merrill?"

He slid off the bed, heading for the door. He couldn't look at her and he didn't know why.

* * *

Graham stared at his daughter. "You slept through last night."

Bo nodded, taking a sip of orange juice. Her large, solemn eyes were fixed on Graham's face. She didn't look any different from usual. She looked just like Bo-which was what made the events of the previous night so hard to understand.

"Do you remember what happened?"

Isabelle and Merrill were seated on either side of him, both of them having taken the day off work and school respectively. There seemed to be an oddly forced silence between them, however, and Graham couldn't help noticing that they seemed to be avoiding looking at one another. Usually, he'd have been concerned-today, however, he had bigger issues on his mind.

"Are you feeling any better?" he asked next.

Bo nodded slowly. "A bit." She stared at her father, eyes disconcertingly peaceful.

Graham chewed his lip before asking the next question. "Do you remember anything about last night?"

Bo frowned, her forehead creasing. "I remember screaming."

Graham nodded, exchanging a quick glance with Merrill and Isabelle. "Do you remember what you were screaming about?"

Bo paused for a moment, and then shook her head. "No. I remember waking up."

"Waking up?"

"This morning." Bo shifted back and forth. She looked just the same as she always did, if a little paler than usual. She rocked back and forth on her chair, her eyes wide, her hands gripping the edge of the seat. Isabelle watched her, eyes sharper than usual.

"OK." Graham relented, shuffling back on his seat, as Bo slid down from her chair. "OK. Go and watch TV."

Usually, Bo balked at a direct order of entertainment, but today, she toddled into the living room without a murmur of complaint. The sound of cartoons blared into the kitchen as Graham turned to stare at Merrill and Isabelle, with a questioning eyebrow raised.

"Well?"

Isabelle struggled for a moment. "I still think she needs to talk to someone."

Graham sighed. "Who?"

Isabelle shrugged. "I could ask at school. Anyone know a good therapist, a good psychologist."

Graham looked at his younger brother. "What about you, Merrill?"

Merrill, who had been watching his niece through the doorway with an uncharacteristically shrewd expression, waited a moment before replying. "Maybe" he said, with a quick glance at Isabelle. But his gaze returned to his oblivious niece's back and Graham couldn't help but think that there was something his brother wasn't saying.

"But?" he asked, unsure of whether or not he wanted to hear the answer.

Merrill swallowed. "It's just weird-" he began hesitantly. "That she doesn't remember anything."

Graham nodded. "I know. That's what makes me think she needs a psychologist."

"It's almost like a night terror" Isabelle mused, her eyes also fixed on her niece. "Except they're happening while she's awake."

Merrill shook his head slowly. "Why's it happening?" he whispered. "What's suddenly set it off?"

Graham only wished he could find an answer. He stared at his daughter, wondering just how long it could take to find a therapist.

* * *

Morgan's father had wanted him to stay at home, citing the fact that he had got barely any sleep the previous night, but Morgan had insisted on coming to school. He himself wasn't sure why but there had been something about his sister's face that night, something that seemed to twist his stomach into knots, and it was almost a relief to climb onto the school bus, where things carried on much as normal, and where nobody was concerned about a half-hysterical six-year-old.

But now, standing in the corridor, Morgan half-wished he'd taken up his father's offer of a day off. Middle school, no matter what anyone said, was _not _the best time of anyone's life. In fact, Morgan was convinced it was some kind of bizarre torture, invented to punish preteens for the crime of their mere existence.

A shove in his shoulder sent him into his locker and Morgan grimaced, his eyes flickering to his wrists automatically. It didn't matter what his father said about just being yourself, it didn't get you anywhere, or at least, not during school. Morgan had found the best way to get by was to just keep one's head down, and try to stay out of the way.

But sometimes, this strategy didn't work.

The hand was already on his shoulder and the voice hissed in his ear, and Morgan found the time to wonder if his tormentor ever took a day off from being the spawn of Satan, or if it was just a full-time job. Morgan had to admire his dedication.

"How are you?" There was a shove into his shoulder again and Morgan flattened his back against the locker, praying his chest wouldn't tighten. He guessed that yanking out an inhaler in front of them would probably get his head well-acquainted with a toilet bowl.

Morgan bit his lip. He was used to saying nothing. Saying nothing was far safer, and what was the point in whining? Stuff happened and you had to deal with it, and there was no point in running to anyone else.

Lucas-Morgan was pretty sure that was his name, though it was hard to get acquainted when someone kept grabbing your collar, it made speaking difficult-was leaning closer to him, his blond hair brushing Morgan's collar. Morgan wondered if Lucas systematically dipped the ends of his hair in a chip pan each morning.

"It's polite-" Lucas shoved him into a locker and Morgan pondered whether or not the other boy kept his hoodie up to prevent the loss of brain cells through his ears. "To answer me." Three boys standing behind him in virtually interchangeable gear laughed. Morgan was convinced their primary function was to nod at whatever Lucas did.

"It's polite" Lucas hissed again, and Morgan twisted his face away, pretty sure his lungs would give out simply from Lucas' second-hand smoke. "To answer me."

Morgan longed to tell Lucas that he wasn't aware politeness applied to legitimate morons, but he didn't get the chance. At that moment, someone muttered "Principal" and Lucas let go of Morgan as though an electric shock had run through them. Morgan took the opportunity to run his fingers over his throat, wondering if any bacteria had been left on his skin.

He was halfway down the corridor, before Lucas could blink-Morgan knew people didn't expect him to be fast, and considered it an advantage. But he turned his head, with the strange sensation that someone was watching him. His eyes immediately flickered to Lucas and his friends with the idea that they might be making another date to grab hold of his throat-if that was their idea of fun-but they were vanishing in the other direction. Morgan wasn't surprised-the last he'd heard, Lucas was one step away from being kicked out of school as it was. He was repeating eighth grade for the third time and had the significant advantage of being taller and heavier than most of his peers. Morgan had the sneaking suspicion that Lucas was the type of kid who is always on their last chance but somehow, the last chance never gives out, unless the kid commits murder.

Either way-Morgan winced as he became aware of a dull ache in his throat-he really wished he'd just stayed at home.

* * *

Isabelle watched Merrill as he drove. It was a moment before she spoke.

"Are you still not speaking to me?"

Merrill shrugged, and Isabelle rolled her eyes. "It was one thing I said. And I said sorry."

Merrill couldn't have told Isabelle why he wasn't speaking to her. He wasn't even sure himself that he knew. All he knew was that something about what she'd said, made him feel like kicking something and he didn't want them to end up in a row, not when all this was going on.

So keeping quiet seemed safer than starting an argument.

Isabelle was staring at him. "This isn't you." Her voice was quiet, soft, and her hand reached out to touch his on the wheel. "This isn't you, Merrill."

Merrill turned to stare at her and in that moment, Isabelle's head whipped around. Merrill's eyes followed her gaze. "What?" His voice was sharp as he spoke his first word to her since they'd got up that morning.

"That was Ray Reddy."

At this, Merrill spun around, too. His eyes focused on the rear of a truck disappearing round the corner. Something about the look of the vehicle struck something familiar in his mind, some memory...

"Merrill, Ray's in hospital-how is he-"

His eyes met hers' and he knew they were thinking the same thing. "I don't know-"

"Follow him." Isabelle stared at him. "Merrill, we have to-"

Merrill stared at her. "You're not serious?"

Isabelle stared back. "You think I'm joking?" She lunged for the wheel, and would have grabbed hold had Merrill not grabbed it first.

"All right, jeez-" He rolled his eyes as he swung the car round in a U-turn, his eyes flickering around for any sign of a cop.

"Are you sure this is legal?"

"You're the one who wanted to follow him!"

Isabelle rolled her eyes as Merrill gunned the motor in the opposite direction, his foot slamming onto the accelerator. The car sped up, and Isabelle had the unpleasant sensation that the crops were rushing past them.

"Merrill-" She gripped the edge of her seat with her fingers. "I know this was my idea, but I'm pretty sure this speed is illegal."

Merrill raised an eyebrow. "How many people do we meet on these roads?" He yanked the car round the same corner as Ray, only for both of their faces to fall. The road ahead of them stretched clear, with no car in sight.

"For God's sake-"

"OK, slow down now-" But the car was still zooming forwards, and Merrill rolled his eyes.

"I will, but no-one's going to see-"

A siren screeched behind them.

Isabelle closed her eyes. "Brilliant."

Merrill slumped back against the seat and covered his eyes. He couldn't believe it. He couldn't believe that, after having driven on these roads his whole life, and having been pulled over only twice, today was the day someone would be keeping an eye out.

Merrill didn't bother to open his eyes as the woman appeared at the window. "Hi, Merrill."

It was Isabelle who answered, carefully averting the woman's eyes. "Hey, Caroline."

Caroline leaned against the window frame. "What's the speed limit, Merrill?"

Merrill rolled his eyes. "Thirty."

"And how fast were you goin'?"

Merrill was forcibly reminded of being ten years old and having his fifth grade teacher reprimand him for managing to get his foot wedged into the bottom of the water fountain, as the result of a dare.

"Fifty." He leaned forward to check the speedometer, "Fifty-one, if you want to be technical."

Isabelle sank her face into her hands. Caroline sighed and leaned further into the car. "Merrill, do you think this is goin' to help?"

Merrill slumped back against his seat in answer. Isabelle leaned over him. "Please, Caroline. We had a tough night. Bo isn't well."

"That doesn't excuse speeding." But Caroline's face creased in concern. "What do you mean about Bo?"

Isabelle sighed and launched into a diluted explanation of the night's events. She glanced at Merrill every now and again, perhaps waiting for him to corroborate or contradict any of her claims, but he didn't speak, choosing instead to let her tell the story. When she had finished, there was a short silence.

Caroline sighed. "Well-" She straightened up. "Since it's a tough time-" She fixed Isabelle and Merrill with a stare. "But don't go telling anyone I let you off. And I won't, again. OK?"

Isabelle nodded and Merrill managed to summon up a small smile. "Thanks."

"And by the way-" Caroline placed a hand on the window frame, preventing Merrill from driving away. "What were you speeding for, anyway?"

Merrill swallowed, already debating what Isabelle had seen. But his girlfriend's voice was already echoing in his ears. "We thought we saw-" She swallowed. "Well-Ray Reddy."

Caroline's eyes widened.

"But we couldn't have" Isabelle was quick to point out. "I mean-he's lying in a coma."

Merrill raised an eyebrow.

Caroline nodded. "Of course you couldn't. That's-" She chewed her lip, watching Isabelle thoughtfully. "That's impossible."

Merrill nodded. "See?" He turned to look at Isabelle, who stared at him, her expression unreadable. He turned back to Caroline. "Well-" There seemed very few ways of ending an awkward conversation with a police officer.

"Safe driving." Caroline raised her hand, and Merrill pressed his foot on the accelerator, rolling up his window as he did so. Caroline stood still, watching as they drove, and although neither Merrill nor Isabelle could have seen, her eyebrows were creased with concern-a concern that wasn't limited to speeding offences.

* * *

Morgan sank into his usual seat on the school bus, and leaned his head against the window. He really, really wished he'd taken his father's advice and stayed off that day. He bit his lip, staring out through the glass, wondering how his sister had passed her unexpected free time.

"Is this taken?" Morgan froze at the voice. It took him a moment to turn in his seat.

Devon Pritchard was standing above him, his eyebrow raised, arms crossed over his shirt. He was staring at Morgan questioningly, foot tapping impatiently.

Morgan could only wonder why the hell Devon Pritchard was speaking to him. "Erm, no-you can-" He gestured uselessly at the seat, wondering why his voice seemed to have vanished.

Fortunately, Devon seemed to interpret the gist of it. "Thanks." He sank down next to Morgan, yanking out a Walkman. Morgan tried not to stare at him, or at least, not in a way that would be conspicuous.

Devon was staring straight ahead, his head resting on one hand. His eyes flickered to Morgan's and Morgan hastily looked away. He was still trying to grasp what had summoned Devon Pritchard over to the seat next to Morgan Hess. Maybe Pritchard was planning to chuck his books out of the window or something.

"So-" Morgan knew he had to reevaluate his life when it turned out one of the Pritchard family was capable of coherent speech. "How come Lucas was giving you shit earlier?"

Whatever Morgan had expected from Devon Pritchard, it wasn't that. In fact, he'd expected something more along the lines of "How can I help Lucas give you shit every day for the rest of your miserable life?"

"Erm-" Morgan shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "It's er-it's nothing, he was just saying stuff-"

Devon snorted. "Bull. He had you grabbed by your shirt, for fuck's sake."

Morgan turned to stare at Devon, who was sliding his hand into his pocket, yanking at a cigarette packet. The bus driver's eye landed on them in the mirror and Devon rolled his eyes, hiding the packet cleverly with one hand.

Morgan knew Devon was in his science class, but other than that, not much. He'd never even spoken to the boy. After figuring out he was in the same class as Lionel Pritchard's brother, he'd pretty much assumed his days were numbered.

"Look-" He sighed, and flopped back against his seat. "It's complicated. And it's not worth talking about."

Devon rolled his eyes. "Jesus. It's kids like you who make it easy for him."

"What do you mean?" Morgan felt his eyes narrow.

Devon sighed, as if he couldn't believe he was having to explain this to such a moron. "Look. If you just stay quiet, he thinks he's won. He's not going to lay off on you. He's not going to leave you alone. You need to fight back."

"You'd know all about that." The words slid out of Morgan's lips before he could take them back. He winced the moment they were in the air, turning to look at Devon.

Devon wasn't looking at him. He was staring straight ahead, his eyes glazed with some expression Morgan couldn't read. "Yeah" he said quietly. "I guess I would."

Morgan winced. "Sorry. That came out wrong."

"Yeah, I bet it did." Devon made a move to stand up and Morgan's hand darted out to grab the other boy's arm. "No-wait-I'm sorry." He wasn't sure why he was so eager to get Devon to stay, other than the fact this was pretty much the longest conversation he'd had with anyone since his first day of middle school.

Devon glanced down at the hand on his arm, eyebrows raised, and Morgan withdrew his arm immediately, blood rising to his cheeks. "I didn't mean-"

Devon raised one eyebrow. "Careful, Hess, or people might get the wrong idea." But the words were accompanied by a slight smirk and he sank back down in the seat next to Morgan.

Morgan shuffled in his seat. "You wish." He waited, sure Devon was going to slam his fist into his shoulder, but Devon laughed, a low sound under his breath. Morgan exhaled, a shaky sigh of relief.

Devon twisted in his seat to face him. "You're different to what I expected, Hess."

Morgan's lip curled. "So are you, Pritchard."

Devon tipped his head forward. He reached round behind him, his hand fastening on a baseball cap, and there was an indignant squawk as Devon dragged the cap onto his own head. A foot struck the back of his seat.

"Oh, shut up, I'll give it back in a minute" he called to the kid slumped behind him. Morgan was about to protest, when Devon turned to face him. "Where'd you get off?"

Morgan stared at him for a moment, before pointing ahead. "In a bit. Few minutes away."

Devon Pritchard nodded. "I'll walk with you. Wanna ask you something anyway."

Morgan nodded, blinking. "OK. I guess. OK."

Devon nodded. "Cool." There was another squawk from behind them and Devon rolled his eyes. "Look, I _said _I'd give it back in a minute, OK?"

* * *

Several minutes later, Morgan and a now capless Devon were walking up the road, backpacks heavy on their shoulders. Devon turned to squint at Morgan in the fall sunlight. "Where do you live, anyway?"

Morgan pointed up ahead. "Up there, on the farm. What about you?"

"Oh-" Devon indicated with his thumb vaguely in the opposite direction. "Down there." Seeing Morgan's expression, he added hastily "It's OK, I wasn't planning on going home yet, anyway."

Morgan bit his lip. "You've got a brother, right?" He winced, but to be perfectly honest, he had spent most of his life loathing Lionel Pritchard. He hadn't talked to the man more than twice, but he'd heard plenty of stories, most of which Merrill had been only too happy to tell him.

It may have been Morgan's imagination, but Devon's face seemed to cloud over. "Yeah. Lionel. Dickhead."

Morgan raised an eyebrow. "You don't like him?"

Devon snorted. "As much as you like having acid thrown on your face."

Morgan frowned, scuffing his feet across the ground. "Right." He supposed that took away creedence from Merrill's theory that all the Pritchards were the same way, inclined to ruin things for everyone else.

Devon smirked. "What, you thought I'd hate you 'cos of him? Just 'cos he hates that Izzy girl?"

Morgan swallowed. "Isabelle."

Devon shrugged. "He mentioned her name once, I think. Izzy-Isabelle. And he doesn't hate her."

Morgan stared at him. "She hates him. He used to give her hell back in school, she said."

Devon snorted. "Yeah, well, course he did, he's a fuckup, and she isn't. That was enough for him to hate her."

Morgan stared at him. "But you don't hate her?"

Devon shrugged. "Don't know her."

Morgan chewed his lip. "Uncle Merrill reckons you've all got it in for us."

Devon shrugged. "That's what everyone else thinks." His tone was suddenly heavier and he busied himself with lighting a cigarette, flicking the lighter several times until the flame burst into the air.

Morgan turned his face away, fumbling with his inhaler. He kept his lips pressed together but Devon turned, his eyebrows knitting together as he caught sight of the device in Morgan's hand. "Oh yeah. You've got that-" He ticked his finger back and forth, apparently unable to think of the word.

"Asthma" Morgan filled in for him, as Devon nodded.

"Yeah. Christ, does this make it worse?" Before Morgan could nod, Devon had stamped the cigarette out before kicking it, well and truly extinguished, to the side of the road. Morgan watched it roll away, his eyes flickering to Devon's. "Thanks."

Devon shrugged. "No big deal." He glanced up, taking in the corn crops waving to their side. "This where you live?"

Morgan nodded. "How come you're talking to me?" The question slipped from his lips without his meaning it to. He glanced at Devon quickly, willing him not to take it the wrong way.

Devon swallowed, waiting a moment before answering. "Because I want to?" It sounded more like a question than it should and Morgan turned to look at him, folding his arms. He was suddenly conscious of the fact that Devon was three inches taller than him. "Why today?"

Devon met his gaze. "Because my brother told me not to speak to you. And I avoid obeying my brother at all costs." His lip curled slightly as he looked at Morgan. "And you're interesting."

Morgan ignored the stab of pleasure he felt at that. "Oh. Right." He couldn't think of anything else to say, but fortunately Devon broke the silence.

"You really need to deal with that Lucas kid."

"Devon, he's three times as big as me" Morgan pointed out-rather patiently, he thought.

Devon rolled his eyes. "He can't go on pushing you around. He was doing it all last year to the new kids."

Morgan frowned. "How do you know?"

Devon looked at him for a second, eyes flickering up and down, as though deciding how much to tell him. "Got held back a grade."

"Oh." Morgan avoided his eyes, the stab of pleasure now turning to a pinprick of guilt. "Sorry."

"Don't be. Not your fault, is it?"

There was a short silence, and Devon sighed. "Look." He glanced away, then back again. "I can help you deal with Lucas."

"OK." Morgan frowned, his eyes focusing on Devon's. He stared at the other boy. "What's wrong?" For Devon was suddenly looking awkward, his eyes darting everywhere but at Morgan's face.

"I-" He bit his lip for a moment, and Morgan wondered if hell had frozen over. A Pritchard kid biting his lip was practically newsworthy. "I just-" Devon Pritchard sighed and looked away. "Doesn't matter."

Morgan frowned. "I won't laugh."

But Devon shook his head. "It was just something someone sai-doesn't matter." He raised a hand in farewell. "See you around, Hess."

Morgan's eyes narrowed but Devon was already heading back down the road. "See you...Pritchard."

Devon raised his hand again, turning away. As Morgan watched, the other boy yanked out a cigarette, lighting it before it had even reached his mouth. He watched as Devon made his way down the road, black jaw-length hair brushing his skin, as he slouched away, a small plume of smoke travelling into the air as he walked.

Morgan turned slowly towards his own gate, his mind racing. He was pretty sure that that was the strangest walking companion he'd ever had. And he couldn't help wondering if Devon would follow through on his promise of seeing him tomorrow.

* * *

Graham stared at his daughter, who was sitting quietly at the table. She stared at her empty plate, her fingers drumming quietly back and forth. Drum, drum, drum, drum. Graham wondered where her mind was, if he could follow it there.

Morgan appeared in the doorway, and Graham turned to his son, struggling to hide his relief at having both of his children in the same room again. "How was school?"

Morgan, he noticed, was staring into space, his brow creased, as though struggling to figure something out. After a moment, he answered "Fine." His eyes strayed immediately to his sister, and although he said nothing, Graham read the unspoken question in his son's face.

"Come here" he mouthed, beckoning Morgan to the family room doorway. Morgan followed, dropping his backpack to the floor beside him. Graham knelt down beside his son.

"She's-" He sighed, avoiding Morgan's eyes. "She's been better today. But I'm-" He closed his eyes for a moment. "It might be time for her to talk to someone."

He braced himself for objections, protests, but to his surprise, Morgan simply nodded. "Maybe she does."

Graham stared at his son. He noticed how tall Morgan had got recently, how his son-who until just a few months ago had still seemed a little boy-was now shooting upwards, like a sprouting plant. He moved slightly awkwardly and Graham realised with a vicious jolt that his son was growing-growing up, and he had almost failed to notice.

Morgan stared back. "Dad?" Even his voice seemed different. "What's happening to her?"

Graham stared back, almost loathe to bring the answer to his lips. "I don't know, Morgan" he said, and watching his son, he thought he had never felt more hopeless than he did right then.

* * *

"All right, Isabelle, what's wrong?" Isabelle had barely been speaking to her mother for two minutes, when she heard the sigh, as crisp as if they were in the same room.

"It's just-" Isabelle curled up on the bed, moving closer to the headboard. She glanced at the closed bedroom door, but, hearing the blare of the sports channel, guessed that Merrill couldn't hear her.

"Is this something to do with Merrill?" Her mother's voice made Isabelle frown and wonder, once again, how mothers could sometimes be all-knowing.

She sighed. "It's stupid-we had-we had an argument-it was about something stupid-"

"The worst arguments often are." Her mother's voice was softer now. "Are you not speaking?"

Isabelle sighed. "Not really." She swallowed, suddenly embarrassed by the threat of tears in her voice. "I just-it was so stupid-"

"Tell me, Isabelle." Her mother's voice was softer now, and Isabelle swallowed, glancing at the door. She'd never had a whole day where they hadn't spoken, never had a whole day where they'd stayed angry at each other, and it made her bite her lip to think of Merrill sitting outside, angry and perhaps hurt at her overreaction that morning.

"I've just-" She sighed. "It was such a stupid thing, Mom." She launched into an explanation of the events of the morning-which itself followed into an explanation of the events of the previous night, and of some of the recent happenings involving Bo.

Her mother listened in silence, not interrupting, giving Isabelle time to breathe in, whenever she felt a sob rising in her throat. It took several minutes of talking before she'd finished, and her mother let out a long sigh.

"Was anyone planning on telling us that our granddaughter was struggling? No, don't answer-" She cut off Isabelle's explanation. "It's-that's not the issue, I know, it's just-Isabelle-" She sighed. "It sounds as if you and Merrill have been worrying a lot, lately."

Isabelle nodded.

"I can't see you, Isabelle."

"Sorry. Yeah, we have."

"And you're both stressed out. And you've both got a lot of pressure-it's a difficult time for everyone, with Morgan starting middle school and Bo starting first grade, and Ray Reddy-that's probably brought a lot back."

Isabelle nodded again.

Her mother sighed. "And it sounds as though-you and Merrill have just both snapped at each other and it's blown up into something more."

Isabelle swallowed. "Maybe."

There was a short silence. Then, her mother said "Look, you tried making the first move this morning. Maybe if you told him again, he'd be in a better mood to listen?"

Isabelle bit her lip. "What if he isn't?"

Her mother snorted. "If he isn't, then leave him to sulk. He'll come around, soon enough. But at least, then you can say you've tried, and the ball's in his court."

Isabelle nodded. "OK. It's just-" She stroked the edge of the pillow, and chewed thoughtfully at her lip for a moment. "I've never been mad at him for this long before. It sounds so stupid, but-"

"No, it doesn't," Her mother's voice was softer now. "It doesn't sound stupid. He's your boyfriend. And you love him. And he loves you. He's just like most men-he can't bear to admit he's wrong."

"But I was the one who upset him."

"No, love, you just-you just made a mistake. And now it's up to him. And if he chooses to stay in a mood, that's his lookout. OK?"

Isabelle nodded. "I suppose."

"And listen-I'll ask you about Bo, tomorrow. Right now, you just patch things up with Merrill, OK?" Her mother sighed. "You don't sound like yourself right now."

Isabelle sighed. "I'm not."

"I love you, sweetheart. OK? I'm here if you need me."

Isabelle sighed. "Love you too, Mom."

"Good luck, sweetie." There was a click as her mother hung up the phone, and Isabelle stared at the receiver, listening to the dial tone. She sighed, wondering what would happen if her mother's advice came to nothing.

She got up, opening the bedroom door, and replacing the phone on the table. Merrill was still sitting on the sofa, staring at the TV, but his eyes weren't following the players at all, and Isabelle wondered if he was watching as closely as he pretended.

"Who's winning?" she asked, trying her best to feign any interest. She and Merrill usually had a mutual agreement-she did her best to feign interest in sports and he did the same with books. It was a system that usually worked rather well.

Merrill shrugged. His hand moved to the volume control and Isabelle watched as he lowered the sound until the television was almost mute.

She sighed, sinking onto the couch beside him. "Merrill." She waited until he lay back against the couch, his eyes flickering slightly. She reached out, letting her hand touch his. "Merrill, I'm sorry."

His eyes flickered to hers'. "About earlier-I'm really sorry." She bit her lip, wishing he'd say something, look at her properly-something about this silence was terrifyingly unfamiliar and frighteningly unlike Merrill.

"Merrill?" She looked at him. "Look, I just-I hate us not speaking. OK? And right now, we can't-we can't fall out. Not with everything that's going on. I need-we need-" Her voice trailed off, and she turned away, her fingers still linked with his. "And that's all I can do." She dropped her gaze, reminding herself of her mother's words-that now the ball was in his court.

"Izzy." Merrill's voice was low, and she turned to look at him slowly. "Izzy, I-" All the energy seemed to leave his body, as he slumped forwards, his head in his hands. "Izzy, I'm sorry-I don't know why I-"

Isabelle was already moving towards him, letting her arms slide around his shoulders. "I shouldn't have snapped at you-"

"I shouldn't have dragged it out." His fingers traced her jaw, glided over her cheeks. Isabelle shivered, her eyes closing involuntarily.

"I don't get it." Merrill's voice was almost imploring. "Izzy, I don't know why this is happening-I don't know why I keep-" He buried his face in his hands, his fingers digging into his hair, pressing into his skin deep enough to leave indentations. "What's happening to me, Izzy?"

Isabelle shook her head. "Merrill." She pulled him closer and his head rested against her arm. "Merrill, you're trembling-Merrill, tell me, tell me what's wrong, please-"

His head rested on her shoulder and he closed his eyes, teeth nibbling at his lip-she ghosted her lips across his cheek. "Talk to me."

His eyes were wide as they fixed on hers', and Isabelle stared back, transfixed as always by the blue-green depths of his gaze, the way he could unravel her with one smile, one look. "I don't know why I keep-" He bit his lip and Isabelle realised it was taking him everything he had to keep from falling apart. "I don't know why-I don't feel like me, I just feel insane the whole time, like I'm going nuts or something-I don't know what's wrong, I just-"

"You're stressed out, that's all-" Isabelle struggled to reassure him. "We all are."

Merrill shook his head, his eyes still fixed on hers'. "It's more than just stress." He stared at her, his eyes wide, almost pleading. "I feel like I'm going _mad_, Isabelle."

She had no answer-no answer except to bring him closer to her, to lean forward so that their mouths brushed together once, briefly, their hands interlocked. All she could do was hold him for a moment, let him bury his face in her shoulder, his hands locking in her hair.

It was another moment before he tilted his mouth to hers', once again, his hands exploring her neck, before they broke apart, slowly, both of them blinking. Isabelle could feel that desperation creeping over her again, the same way it had earlier that week in the car. She bit her lip, struggling to hide the sudden rush of sensation she got from touching him, the sudden wave of feeling every inch of his skin was giving her.

"Merrill-" she started to say, but she didn't get any further before his mouth found hers', and he kissed her, his hands sliding into her hair, and any words were drowned out in the feeling of their lips moving together, in the heat of his skin against hers'.

His hands slid down her back, holding her against him, her mind a riot of sensation, of mouths and kisses and frantic touches. His tongue danced across her lips, and her mouth fell open against his, a high-pitched sound coming from her throat as he traced the insides of her mouth. She sighed his name and Merrill pulled back to look at her, his eyes ragged, unfocused.

"Are you OK with this-"

In answer, Isabelle pulled his mouth back to hers', her hips bruising his as he kissed her harder, until her head fell back against the couch, her hands sliding under his shirt.

* * *

She knew that everyone was worried about her-that Isabelle and Uncle Merrill and Daddy all whispered about her when they thought she and Morgan couldn't hear. She knew that Daddy wanted her to go to a doctor, someone that Isabelle knew. She knew that Morgan thought he'd seen her outside a few days before. She couldn't remember going outside that night, not properly-though she remembered there being dirt on her feet, the feeling of being cold. But the next thing she knew, she'd been lying in bed, and Daddy had been standing next to her, with Morgan in the doorway.

She knew that things weren't the same way they used to be and she knew that the dead birds were making everyone worried. She wondered if she could make the birds stop and then she wondered what was happening at all.

Bo sat at the table, colouring in her picture. She knew that Daddy would be down in a minute, to tell her it was bedtime, and she wanted to be finished before then. She wasn't going to school tomorrow-Daddy had told her she might be seeing a doctor instead-not a special one, the normal one. Daddy had told her he'd stay with her tonight, just to help her sleep.

But Bo knew Daddy was worried.

She kept colouring, glancing towards the family room out of the corner of her eye. Morgan was in there, watching TV. He didn't look at her too much, but every so often she saw him glance over out of the corner of his eye, when he thought she wasn't looking.

They all thought she didn't know they were worried.

But Bo couldn't tell anyone. She couldn't put it into words. She couldn't say it.

She couldn't remember screaming last night. She couldn't remember it properly. She remembered being in her bedroom. And she remembered something cold and dark inside her and something angry rising up in her throat, something filling up her brain.

And then she'd been standing there, soaking wet, with everybody watching her. Daddy had tried to tell her it wasn't her fault, as he bathed her, and tucked her into bed afterwards, but she knew it was. She'd done something bad and she didn't remember doing it or if she'd do it again.

But another part of her couldn't help it.

"Bo?" It was her daddy's voice. "Bath time." He sounded on edge, worried, and Bo knew why. He didn't want her to scream again.

She didn't think she'd have to, tonight. But then she noticed Morgan too, watching her out of the corner of his eye.

"OK, Daddy." She got up from the table, gathering her pictures with her. She'd cut each figure out specially, once she'd drawn it. It had taken a while, but it had been worth it. Now, she had a different drawing for each person.

Daddy. Uncle Merrill. Isabelle. Morgan.

A different drawing for each one.

She kept them tucked under her arm as she went up the stairs. Daddy followed her. "Are you all right, sweetheart?" His voice sounded low, and worried, the way it had after Mommy died. It sounded dark in Bo's ears, and she swallowed, before turning around with a smile.

"I feel OK, Daddy."

"You do?" Daddy sounded better now, relieved. "That's-that's good, baby. You sure?"

Bo nodded, and her hand clenched tighter around her drawings. "I'm fine."

She'd put them in her room, she decided, as her daddy went into the bathroom to run her bath. She'd hide them under her bed. That way, no-one would see them.

That way, no-one could find them.

And no-one could worry about her.

**And on that note, there's the end of the chapter. Reviews motivate me to write more so leave me some! :)**


End file.
